March 23, 2007
The Three Stages of Poop
One... day. I just want to go one damn day without the smell of poop in my nostrils.
There are many things I don't want waking me up at 1:00 in the morning.
Snoring.
Husband's and/or Daisy's.
The phone.
It's never good news in the middle of the night.
Husband's wandering hands.
I'm married. The window for sex is 7:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. And don't gimme that "Oh, I must've been doing it in my sleep" crap, mister.
Canine pre-hork retching.
Y'all know what I'm talkin' 'bout.
Yet more than all of these, I hate, HATE, HATE waking up to the smell of shit.
Yes, the barf is gross. But we have recently discovered the joy of Resolve Pet Stain Remover. And besides -- I can usually play Girl and get Husband to do most of the hurl removal.
Lo, worse than the barf is the shit because it immediately means three things.
One, the cage needs to be cleaned out. Disassembled, cleaned and reassembled. Fine.
Two, the floor will probably need to be washed because poop will be tracked from the cage to the back door. Her majesty is tipping the scales just shy of 45 lbs. nowadays, despite only being 5 months old today, so she is no longer easily picked up and toted around.
Three -- and this is the biggie -- the 45 lb. puppy will need to be bathed. The very idea of this causes me to go limp with reluctance and dread. I can hardly type it.
And this is what happened at 1:00 a.m. Wednesday. I woke to the smell of fecal matter, and my limbs immediately responded by refusing to let me leave the bed. So I laid there for a while, praying it was merely a case of Husband having had garlic for lunch.
But it didn't dissipate. Indeed, it worsened. And yea, the three inevitables followed.
One, I cleaned the cage.
Two, we bathed the puppy. In the kitchen sink.
Three, I called in "pissed off" to work so I could stay home to clean the kitchen and nap.
My dedication to employment knows no bounds.