These early, early mornings have been a boon with the massive project I have going at work (which ends tonight, yay!) but ... not so cool on the getting-out-of-the-door front. Especially not when one's runt of a Great Dane decides to expel steaming piles of shit in various spots in one's lounge.
Yeah, see, that gets old really, REALLY fast. Sometimes it's Madcat who deals with the clean-up; sometimes it's me. Oh, and just for added fun, there's usually a warm puddle the size of the Atlantic, too.
I won't go into too much detail because ... it's just too gross. Okay, I started, but I decided to spare my one reader the ookiness. My pleasure, Madcat.
Suffice to say, it involves a) swearing at the dog, who slinks off and looks appropriately ashamed that lo, she could not hold it in ONE SECOND LONGER even though she'd woken you up at midnight to get outside and empty her innards; b) the use of lots of plastic, not to mention Vicks under the nose to keep the smell at bay; c) swearing; d) mopping of slate floors, lovely!; d) SWEARING, did I mention?
Oh, and in the trek to get rid of the mess in the outside rubbish bins, we have to go through the front door instead of the back, so that we don't set off houseguest's annoying little yappy Satan Spawn ("affectionately" known as Fucker). I cannot wait until HIS whiny trap is no longer a hazard when going out the back door!
Yes. My first blog about poop. I bet there'll be many more. But hey, at least I'm not alone!
I'm working late tonight (and blogging). It's been a freezing day, with the bonus of rain. And with both MadCat and I at work - the dogs have been given free rein in the lounge and on the patio, behind the security gate.I don't want to know what was waiting for MadCat when he got home tonight ...