Tag Archives: poop

Dear Diary, It’s A Lovely day In The Neighborhood

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This is why I can't pay my bills.

This is why I can’t pay my bills.

Except that it is 11 degrees, the snow has melted to reveal the massive amounts of dog poop on my front walk and I jammed my ring finger toe on the step stool in the bathroom. Let’s begin with the 11 degrees thing…

It’s March. It’s the end of March. This should be sweatshirt weather. Instead, we are still hunting for hats and mittens. One of the perks of living where I live is the changing seasons. So, when winter decides to not leave when it is supposed to we feel jipped. Or maybe righteously pissed off is a better phrase. But it has been sunny! Which has helped all the snow to melt. Which means the dog poop is all exposed.

See, it has been so cold that my kid has been just opening the front door and letting the dog do his thing while she stands inside. So, “his things” are all over my front walk. This was a non issue when we had snow covering it up. I have to wonder about the food I feed this dog. I feed him the higher end stuff that supposedly has no chemicals or fillers… then why the hell doesn’t his poop disintegrate? If the sun is strong enough to melt the snow and ice, I have to conclude that it should be warm enough to melt the poop.

The mail lady left a note in my box that I had to go to the post office to get the mail because the front walk wasn’t shoveled. I think that is just a nice way of telling me she doesn’t want to walk through the mine field of  dog turds. I don’t blame her. I also am not going to the post office to get my mail because, why bother? I’m not going to make an effort to go collect bills and collection agency notices and bounced check alerts. It’s just depressing.

So, let’s look at this in the positive. It’s March and 11 degrees which means I don’t have to look at my fat arms in a tank top for at least another two months and the dog poop has successfully kept all of my bills at bay! Really, what do I have to complain about? Nothing!

Except my toe. How does it happen that you see the step stool, you are walking in what you deem (at 41 years of age, having at least 40 years of walking experience) a reasonable distance from the step stool and yet you pick up your foot, sort of lift it up behind you and then SLAM it into the stool you are looking RIGHT AT. How does that happen? Of course it is the most pain I have ever experience in my life including child birth and the canker sore.

Now I am not one of those high drama people like my bff who sounds like she just discovered a dead body when she stubs her toe. No, I am more of an immediately violent person. I want to smack someone and I spill swear words that even I have never heard before. Then I walk it off, laughing because I don’t want to cry. What the hell is that about? It’s like biting my tongue. I have had the same tongue in the same place for 41 years. How the hell can I accidentally bite it. And bite it so hard it bleeds. Or missing the last step of the staircase in the house where you have lived for 8 years. Same amount of stairs, nothing has moved and at least once a month I just forget that there is that last step and give myself a minor heart attack.

All in all, I suppose it’s not a horrible day. Then again, it’s only mid-afternoon.

Sometimes I get water up my nose in the shower through my eye. That is never as fun as it sounds like it would be.

This is what the first day of spring looked like here. It looks like bullshit to me.

This is what the first day of spring looked like here. It looks like bullshit to me.

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Dear Diary, Day of LUV

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Back when I was a kid we had to wear ski masks and smoke cigars...

Back when I was a kid we had to wear ski masks and smoke cigars…

It’s freakin Valentimes Day. Yea. I actually like Valentine’s Day alot. It’s a great excuse to use glitter. I was all set for a lovely VDay date while the kids were at school but then…..snow day. Normally, I LOOOOVE snow days. And this is a snow day before a week long mid winter break which is the best. Except that now I have to cancel my date because I have a house full of kids. Actually, I only have one kid at the moment because the other kid got stuck at her babysitting gig overnight as the roads were so bad. No love for me.

Except from the kid. She walked to the store to get me a bagel and tea. In a snow storm! She loves me.

Poor dog. I shoved him thru a crack in the front door so he could pee. He sunk as he was peeing and really could barely move. I was laughing so hard I almost peed. It was like quicksand. And he looked so confused. Like he lost his legs. Pooping was equally hysterical. Not sure where his poop went, he turned in circles looking for it for a good 5 minutes. Sticking his snout into the snow and snorting.  I had to drag him back in thru the crack in the door because I couldn’t fit thru the crack to pick him up. He tumbled back into the house like a puppy snowball. And all I could do was stand there and laugh. Until I saw that he had a poop ball stuck to his foot. Then I screamed and chased him around the livingroom. Which led to me cleaning up the trail of poop prints all over the carpet. It’s like it’s Valentine’s Day or something….

I was sitting here stressing about the plow guy. I didn’t contact him and we literally have at least 3 feet of snow. There is no way on God’s green earth that I am shoveling. It’s the principle of the thing really. I told the kid to go up to the snow plow guy’s house and ask and she said the driveway is plowed…Wow. I just thought about needing the plow guy and BLAM! driveway plowed!!! Nice. Now I am thinking about needing someone to hook up my dryer…I’ll let you know if that works out for me.

Now it is noon. I have been texting all morning with my bff and exchanging really bad pics of ourselves. Hers because she is working out, mine because I am not working out.

I am sure the only reason my dozen long stem red roses haven’t been delivered is because of the storm. And probably because I forgot to order them….

Munchos and Pop Tarts are the only thing in my pantry currently. I am not a college student or a pot head so that is weird.

This reindeer is flipping me off isn't he?

This reindeer is flipping me off isn’t he?

 

Spencer And The Snowstorm

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Happy Mutts

Happy Mutts

We got over a foot and a half of snow last night. Spencer is about a foot and a
half tall. So, when I let him out this morning he went sledding down the back
stairs and belly flopped into the snow where he was immediately covered by the
avalanche from the roof because I slammed the door. Oh it was funny!!! I laughed
and laughed at him!! He crawled out and walked in a circle 3 times and then
stood still. I assume he was peeing but all I could see of him was his head and
the top of his back. He may have just been contemplating the best revenge for me
laughing at him.

I was all ready to start snow blowing. I was still in my PJ’s but I had on my
scarf, hat, gloves and boots. I knew this was not going to be a fun project. My
car was buried and my driveway is on an incline. And it is single wide meaning
that only one car can fit down or up the driveway. I do have a turn around area.
I knew I would have to snowblow the turn around also because there was no way I
could back up and out of the driveway. Ok, so, now I was procrastinating,
wondering how a plow guy could do it…where I should start…wondering if my
neighbors will totally laugh at me snow blowing in my PJ’s and wondering if I
care if they do….Meanwhile, Spencer is doing his damndest to get back up the
stairs.

To his credit, he was trying to dig around where he thought the stair was. He
knew that I was going to be of NO help as I stood there giggling at him. He was
mumbling under his breath as he dug. But really, it’s not like he was going to
put his superior digging skills to use for MY sake. He was not going to help me
dig out the car. He finally realized that he does not have the ability to stand
on one stair and dig on the next, so he starts barking at me.

I did all the dumb things I did when he got himself stuck upstairs. I tried
encouraging him, I tried dragging him, I thought about trying to carry him. I
was trying to avoid shoveling. I had to have a goal if I was going to get thru
this snow hell and my goal was to not use a shovel, only the snow blower.
Spencer was not going to ruin my goal before I even got started. Who’s the
evolved one here? I went up the stairs kicking snow out of the way, now both of
us are muttering under our breath.

Spencer is back inside now and Emma, the smartest one in the family, had refused
to come out at all. She rather pee on the rug than slide down the stairs. Who
can blame her, really? Ok, now I am ready to snow blow. First task was to find
the snow blower which was buried completely under all the snow. I started
kicking and digging around where I think I had left it. Score! And it starts!!
So far so good! But this is really wet, heavy snow and I kept getting stuck. As
I have no upper body strength, I have to put my hips into it, with a rocking
motion. I am sure this looks like some fetish video. Being in my PJ’s with an
assortment of winter accessories on I think makes the entire thing hysterical.
Now, I am snow blowing, getting stuck, doing my snow blower dance and laughing
hysterically by myself.Oh and talking to the snow blower. It started stalling
out so I would then say “Come ON! You’re a snow blower, this is what you DO!
What you were built for!! You can do it! It’s your moment to shine!!!” It
crossed my mind to actually cross the street to the neighbors to see if they
were finding this as funny as I was…

I got one pass done and I turn around and there is Spencer, pooping on the
cleared 1 foot by 1 foot area of driveway. I was astonished to see him
there,looking right at me, pooping where I had just snow blowed. And he was
laughing too. Like that was his revenge. Whatever. I kept going which kind of
scared him. He didn’t know which way to go. He knew I was watching so he
shouldn’t go up the driveway, but that was really the only way to go as I hadn’t
snowblowed anything else yet. He turned in a few circles and then went up the
stairs and ran through the door, which had blown open. I was still laughing at
the hilarity of the situation. Me and my goofiness and Spencer and his choice of
space to poop. Ha ha ha!

My second thought was “I better remember the poop is there because I don’t want
to step in it or snow blow it and have poopcicles fly all over the yard. That
would be just my luck! That is what happened every time I used the weed wacker!!
Oh spring…I can’t wait till…POOP!!!!” And yes, not only had I snow blowed the
fresh poop, but then I stepped in it. Just in case you had ever wondered, dog
poop smell overpowers exhaust fumes. And apparently chilled fresh dog poop stick
to boots better than even room temperature dog poop. Pretty sure I didn’t
needed to know that. Spencer’s revenge was sweet, in a sense. No kids, that is NOT
chocolate snow…..

Spencer The Addict

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spencer the addict

They say we are only as sick as our secrets. I don’t know if this is his secret or mine….

Spencer spent the first 8 years of his life outside. When he was in, it was mainly in the mudroom. Then, he spent a year at my mother’s house in the village, where he accidently broke her knee, but that’s a story for a different day…. And when we moved in here, Spencer and Emma came home. They became suburban dogs. They began their transformation at my mother’s house where they had to learn to walk on leash and how to steal food off the counter rather than eat fish out of the creek. They developed a whole new set of skills. Emma eventually learned that she was now a kept dog and she would be fed and walked. She just had to be patient. Emma is a good, smart dog. Spencer is a fart.

Don’t misunderstand, Spencer always had a tendency toward theft. Even when we lived in the woods and he had his fill of critters, he would take every opportunity to steal people food. He did the typical “turkey pull” where the dog pulls the cooked turkey off the counter. The difference being, he pulled it down and swallowed the 14 pound bird whole. He may be part snake as his bottom jaw unhinges and he’s a sneaky, sometimes slimy mutt. I’m not kidding, for a 120 pounds, this dog is fast!!

Spencer eats anything and everything he can. He loves garbage, dead animals are his nirvana, and…. candy. He is a chocoholic. Every year we had an easter egg hunt with about 30 kids and their families. I made a huge ham dinner and I knew better than to let the dogs in the house. I put the 20 bags of candy in the mud room not knowing that Spencer was what he was which is insane. He ate 10 bags of easter candy tinfoil and all before I caught him. Of course, the entire world told me he would die, as chocolate is deadly to dogs in large quanties. What he whole world didn’t know was he is a Coon Hound Disease survivor so I figured he’d survive this too, if only by sheer stupidity and will power. At the same time, if the chocolate had killed him then, after taking care of his paralyzed ass for months on end, I would have been severely pissed. Luckly Spencer didn’t know that chocolate was poison. The only effect the chocolate had on Spence was a sugar high, followed by a sugar low and then alot of diarrhea. He likes to go all out on the holidays. Thank you Easter Bunny. Bawk Bawk!

Obviously from that day on, I knew there was no more being careless with food. Spencer had an addiction and me, being the codependent enabler I am, stepped right up to the challenge of keeping him sober or at least keeping him from eating us out of house and home. But for that year that he and Emma lived with my mother, I became lax. We could actually sit down to dinner without one of us having to keep lookout for a sneak attack from the dog. We would actually leave bread on the counter, a bowl of candy stayed right where we put it.

And then they came home. And I do believe Spencer was bolder and less apologetic than before. He felt entitled to help himself to whatever he wanted. The kids and I began to live like we were in prison. We eat with one arm around our plates and our eyes ever shifting back and forth waiting for that hot doggy breath on our legs, signaling that he is about to take what is ours. Bringing groceries in is a 3 person job now. One to stand guard in the kitchen, one to stand guard at the car door and one to actually bring the groceries in. When heating something up, there is no way to put it down and answer the phone, or the door. If the kids aren’t there to protect the food, I can’t get the door or answer the phone. Or if I do, it is with food in my hands. Bowls filled with meatloaf, hot pans of lasagna, plates of brownies, that how I greet guests to my home, not because I am suzy homemaker, but because if I turn my head, that damn dog will have scarfed down every scrap.

I am considering doing an intervention and sending him to rehab.

My New Reality

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It's not MY fault I don't have a toy....

Wake Up: 5am to Leo screaming in his crate. Fall out of bed because I am being attacked by Cecelia, who was sleeping at my feet and is cranky if she is awoken. Ever.

5:02am: Trip down the stairs, kicking in the adrenaline rush, Leo still screaming in crate. Try to organize my thoughts….do I put on my coat and boots first…do I get Leo first….where did I leave his leash….why am I always broke….what day is it….who’s life is this….LEO!

5:02 and a half am: I open Leo’s crate door and he bolts out only to run right back into me only to crash his little body into the gate only to run around the coffee table. Me? I am standing there crying.

5:03am: Still crying, I try to attach his leash.

5:15am: Success I have attached his leash. We head for the door. At this point, I have to figure out if I have my boots and coat on or if I need to put them on. If I have to put them on I cry some more because Leo is not yet allowed to roam free in the house. Especially as he has to pee and poop. I strangle myself trying to get my coat on and wipe my nose on my sleeve. I don’t care.

5:16am: Leo poops while walking in a circle. I wonder if that is some sort of instinctual thing…like standing inside of his poop circle will keep him safe from the spirits…? I wait a few more minutes to see if he will pee also, knowing darn well that he peed in his crate, under his bed. Yes, UNDER his bed.

5:17am: Back in the house, I fall over trying to get off my boots. I wouldn’t necessarily take off my boots at this point, but after cleaning up the gobs of dog poop that I unknowingly tracked through the house a few weeks back on more than one occasion, I decide to make the extra effort.

5:18am: I hook Leo’s leash to the gate, fill his bowls with food and water. Spencer is rhythmically barking and Emma is whining. I start crying again. I go get Spencer and Emma. I have to lift Spencer to his feet from his laying down position as he can no longer get up on is own. Once up, he is pretty shaky and falls often. Mostly into the dog poop outside.

5:20am: Spencer, Emma and I walk by Leo. Leo decides we are very mean and starts screaming at us for leaving him alone in the house.

5:21am – 5:32am: Spencer alternately pees, poops and falls down. Emma pees, poops while walking (good trick Emma…no way to pick that up!). I alternately cry, swear and pick Spencer up. We come in.

5:33am: Leo immediately shuts up when we walk through the door and tries to pretend he wasn’t screaming like a B movie star. Spencer heads right for Leo’s food, and falls. Damn it.

5:34am: I pick up Spencer and herd Emma into the kitchen where I feed both of them while Leo is in the other room, watching us and crying quietly so that Spencer won’t make fun of him.

5:35am: I take Leo out for his second walk. He pees a little just to make me feel better.

5:36am: I put Leo into his room, where he immediately starts screaming again because I have to go fetch Em and Spence and put them back in their room. On the way, I give Spencer his old man medications which include a thyroid, an antibiotic and benefiber…he’s fixed so he doesn’t need Viagra….Leo still screaming, somehow louder than before.

5:37am: I go back to Leo, clean up his crate, toss his bed into the other room for washing when the sun comes up, and force him to lay on the couch with me where he proceeds to try to chew the blanket, me and the couch. I get up once again and get him a toy cursing myself for not thinking ahead and making a mental note to always keep a toy of his on the couch there by avoiding the inconvenience of getting up after I had lain down. My next thought is ‘what was the thought I just had?’

6:00am: Leo snuggles down and stops wiggling and chewing and starts snoring.

6:01am: I stop crying and try to dooze off again just for 45 minutes before I have to get up to get the kids ready for school.

6:02am: Spencer decides he needs to poop and have some water. I decide he doesn’t. Ignore.

6:03am: Spencer wins (sometimes…othertimes I think I win, but then Spencer poops on the carpet and that is at least 20 minutes of cleaning…he has had a really hard time training me…I am a very slow learner)

6:04am: Leo screaming. Spencer let out. Leo screaming. Spencer comes in. Leo screaming. Spencer takes an extraordinarily long time getting a drink. Leo screaming. Spencer pauses to contemplate me and my tears, goes back to drinking.

6:15am: Spencer is back in his room. Leo is again on the couch trying to chew the blanket, me and the couch. I get up to get his toy and make a mental note to always keep one of his toys on the couch. I promptly forget my mental note.

6:30am: Leo is snoring. I am laying with him, wide awake, remembering the good old days of no pets, trying to remember all the good things about having these dogs.

6:31am: Cecelia decides she wants to come in and attaches her entire body to the window that is right near my head. Spead eagle. At the same time, Eddie starts yelling at me because I let Cece out and not him so he stands on the other side of the gate and yells until Leo wakes up and jumps down to go throw his body against the gate which makes a lovely crashing noise.

6:32am: I hate my life.

6:33am: I lay down, waiting for the alarm which will signal the start of my day, in total denial that my day started at 5am with dog poop and pee. Leo is trying to chew the furniture and I am rationalizing that with the fact that I don’t like my furniture. I do, but at 6:33am, I don’t really care.

6:45am: Alarm. Leo screaming. Kids up.

Jealous right?

They are cute when they want to be....

 

Spencer’s Gift from Santa

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Puppy Christmas Surprise!!!

Santa brought us a brand new puppy! Storks bring babies and Santa brings puppies!!! Emma thinks it was Satan who brought the puppy. We all went to bed Christmas Eve in anticipation of a fun christmas morning. No one had asked Santa for a puppy, no one had talked about puppies. We had our hands full with Spencer and his inability to stand on his own, his garbage eating, his farts and his in-house “accidents”. We had  fallen into a routine that revolved around Spencer and Emma (his satellite). Taking care of elderly dogs is challenging and Spencer being a challenged dog on a good day, his remaining years are involving  much more attention than all of his years combined. But they are OUR dogs and we love them. And as much as I hate them sometimes, they are lives that were entrusted to me to care for and that is what I will do until the end. Lesson for the kids and learning experience for me.

Anyway, about 6am christmas morning we heard this wicked cry/scream coming from the livingroom. The kids jumped out of bed, with tears in their eyes because  they were sure it was Emma in the throes of death. They simultaneously wanted to run downstairs and help her and go back to bed and not deal with her death on Christmas morning. I, being the mom, slowly creep down the stairs, unsure as to what could be making this animatistic howling and low and behold….there’s a puppy!!!! In a crate!!!! I yell for the kids that Emma is fine but they have to come right away!!!

Three sets of slippered feet pad down the stairs and stop, in shock, unsure as to what they are seeing or what this is going to mean to their life. I open the crate and out tumbles Leo! Leo is a full-blooded beagle, 8 weeks old and a totally typical puppy. He licked everyone, jumped on everything and he tried to play with Emma and Spencer. Bad idea.

Emma was a nervous old lady. She didn’t like the way Leo was licking and nipping at the kids, she didn’t like the way he was trying to eat all the wrapping paper, she didn’t like that he was sniffing around for a place to pee. She didn’t like Leo. At all. Leo was totally oblivious to her disdain. She had a tail! A big bushy tail! That must be a toy!! And so Leo found his favorite play thing…Emma’s tail.

Spencer was also unimpressed. Spencer knows he is the top dog. After all, he has a crew who lifts him up and helps him walk, wipes his butt after every poop and gets all the love when he does his “sad doggy eyes”. Spencer is secure in his spot as top dog. So when Leo climbed all over Spencer’s large laying down body, Spencer was tolerant.

The rest of christmas day was all about Leo. Other presents were forgotten on the floor…until Leo found them and then they were put up on the couch. Lucky for us we are having one of the mildest winters on record because we were taking Leo out every hour, which we soon learned should be every half hour which was actually every 15 minutes.

All of the sudden, Spencer and Emma’s puppyhood was coming back to me like an acid flashback. The pee and poop everywhere, the constant crying and whining, the chewing of EVERYTHING. That is when I started to hyperventilate. I forgot that I love my animals, I forgot about the love that a puppy can bring, I forgot that I have 3 kids who will help to raise this puppy. All I could remember in that moment was a house destroyed and puppies that I could not love because they were costing me a fortune in flooring.

On top of everyone and their brother telling me that beagles are the worst dogs in the world. Ofcourse, no one has experienced Spencer in all his glory, his coon hounds disease, his food stealing and home escapes, his “accidents”. But everyone is so sure that beagles are the AntiChrist. I have researched beagles for 6 years. I love the beagle breed. Every single negative in a beagle is every single negative that Spencer owns and wears with pride. His nose to the ground, oblivious to his name when he is on a scent. Running away, eating poop, getting fat, jumping up, being an all around turd.

My oldest also got a very fancy camera for christmas. What goes better together than puppies and cameras?

 

 

 

Emma Makes A Phone Call

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Helrow? Helrow? It's Emma...I just peed...

It is 6:15am on a saturday and I am awake. Not because I want to be, not because I need to be. Because I have dogs. Oh sure, some of you with good dogs won’t understand how my dogs have me trained…and not very well trained I might add.  I really don’t understand their methods either. It involves pee, poop and sad puppy eyes.

Anyway, yesterday I cleaned the entire downstairs. Pretty stupid of me actually as I have dogs and kids. Why bother, cleaning is pointless and discouraging. I used to hold off on the Big Clean until I had a day when I was rid of both kids and dogs. But those days are over. Spencer no longer needs to go to the groomers as his fur never grew back after the last shave down 2 years ago and out of 3 kids, one of them is always home and generally always has a friend with them. My home is not my own. Yet, despite all the chaos, I cleaned. I mopped every square inch. Scrubbed on my hands and knees. It was nasty because of the dogs and their peeing and pooping which I make the kids clean up. Kids cleaning up dog pee and poop isn’t going to be as through as say, a professional dog pee/poop cleaner upper (that would be MY mom). So, there was residue. But now, it is gone as I mopped the bejeezus out of those floors.

As I mopped, I gave Emma and Spencer the Evil Eye. For what they had done and for what I knew they could do again. I didn’t bother with my lecture. They’ve heard it all before. By the time I was done, I could barely stand to walk upstairs. I yelled to one of the kids to take the dogs out and followed that statement up with “because if the pee or poop on my clean floors you WILL be grounded!” That just makes them roll their eyes. As if they have any control over when or where the dogs choose to pee. Part of me is kidding but part of me really wishes that the kids would magically know when the dogs have to go and take them. I used to wish for fame or fortune…now I wish for a morning free from dog pee. Yeah, being a grown up is way different than I imagined…

So, at approximately 6am, Emma starts tap dancing. This always wakes me up. She has a few routines. She has a rhythmic number which is generally her Laying Down Dance. She has her fast, more modern Trying Not To Step On Spencer As He Steals the Dog Bed. And then ofcourse there is the slow, methodical Trying To Be Kind Of Quiet So I Can Pee In The House. This morning, however, there was the slow methodical coupled with a huge crash. This means I have to get up to investigate. I throw on my robe of resentment, slip on my slippers of anger and charge downstairs as the banging is continuing and I don’t want the noise to wake the kids and their sleepover buddies.

I have no idea what I am looking at. I see an outline of Emma in the corner, half sitting but not moving. There springs a tiny hope in my heart that she hasn’t peed…she just got lost and can’t find her way out of the corner. I go over to her and smell pee. I also hear “hello? Hello? Do you need help? Hello?” Other people might be concerned that their dog started talking. Me? I’m thinking “yeah, I need help… I need some serious help…” I can’t figure out where the voice is coming from. I try 3 times, unsuccessfully to get Emma to stand up but she can’t. Again I hear this voice “Are you hurt? Shall I call 911? Hello?”

Underneath Emma is the old phone. It looks like a rotary dial phone from the 50’s but it is actually push button. The hand piece is now in two pieces and the cord is wrapped tightly around Emma’s entire body. I pick up what is left of the hand piece and say “Hello, I’m sorry, my dog peed and fell and somehow wrapped herself up in the phone chord, I don’t know how she managed to dial a number. I am so sorry for waking you!” The woman sounded incredulous. I think maybe she didn’t believe me and thought there was something sinister going on. Yeah, sinister was about to go on…

I finally got off the phone with Emma’s new best friend. Remember I was actually kneeling in pee, talking into the hand set that was in the area of Emma’s belly. Her smelly belly. At 6am on a saturday. I can’t get her unwrapped from the phone. It finally dawns on me to unplug the phone from the wall. I do that and untangle her and she is free at last…free to run to the other side of the room, you know, the side that is still clean, and poop. Just a few turds as she heads for the door. I let her out, why I don’t really know, as she has now peed and pooped…what does she need to go outside for? And I set about cleaning up the pee, the poop and myself. Spencer, to his credit, stayed right where he had fallen and just watched me with that dumb grin. I go to let Emma in and she is nowhere to be found. She’s gone. I call quietly for her in a very nice voice hoping to trick her. No Emma. Oh and I should mention it snowed yesterday, and I am in my skivvies as the pj bottoms were soaked in pee. Her pee not mine. I can’t pee randomly on the floor, it’s in my contract.

I go all the way to the back door and call for her. No Emma. Now I start to think if she walked out of the house and got hit by a truck….no, I would be very sad. And her new best friend on the phone would be devastated. I leave the backdoor open just incase and go back to the front door and there she IS! Yea! She now smells like wet dog with pee…there has to be a way to sell this smell. Maybe in a candle, an eau de toilet? snort…that’s funny…shut up, it’s 6am on a saturday and I am covered in dog pee and I am not crying.

I wonder if I can train the lady on the phone to come over and walk Emma every time she calls…