Crap Happens

Today is Saturday, and as usual I always get up long before Mark. Every morning around seven, Chandler starts making noises to go out, and I have to get up and take care of it. The routine is that I greet him at the gate that keeps him separated from the cats, give him his hugs and kisses, then escort him past hissing felines out to the dog run. While Chandler is out peeing and pooping, I go into my office and turn on the computer. So I'm sitting there, checking up on the news of the day, contributing to the demise of newspapers, and I get a whiff of something bad. I smell dog shit. I spin around in my chair, and there it is. Laying like an old log in a clear cut forest, one single turd about five inches long in the middle of a cushion on the office sofa. This is the first time my dog has pooped in the house since the first week he lived here. I have been bragging for six months about how good he has been, and how easy it was to house break him, and now the little guy has let me down. I now know how my mom felt when I flunked seventh grade.

It is later in the day, Saturday, and the turd incident is behind us. Chandler knows that is was wrong to poop on the couch that we use for un-announced house guests to sleep on, and I am busy cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. Another custom at our house, is that while I load the dishwasher, Chandler takes the opportunity to lick all the gravy and sauces dripping from the loaded dishes. It's sort of a hillbilly pre-rinse. Suddenly, Chandler starts screaming and pulling away from the dishwasher. He has somehow hooked himself on the lower rack and is trying to back away, ripping the loaded dishes out of the washer and dragging them across the kitchen. Now the dog is screaming, I am screaming, and just for the hell of it, Mark comes running into the kitchen screaming and flailing his arms about, begging the 'lord Jesus', don't let there be any blood. There was no blood.

Poor Chandler is cowering in the living room, Mark is hyperventilating in the bedroom, and I am cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. As I pick up the shattered dishes and try to put the dishwasher back together, I get a whiff of something horrible. What looked like gravy spattered on the refrigerator and cabinet, is actually dog poop. Chandler literally scared the crap out of himself.

Just another day at my house. They don't all go this way, in fact, often it is quite peaceful here. So if anyone is tired of all that cold and snow up north and wants to take a nice tropical break, come on down. Call first though, otherwise you might have to sleep on the office couch.