Everyone at my house is full of it

If your gag reflex is easily triggered, you may not want to read any further. The following contains a graphic discussion of poop. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

My wife and I (mostly my wife) have been cleaning up after others for years. It started the day we welcomed our first dog into our lives, extended into our kids’ diaper days and remains a major part of our everyday existence thanks to our current dog and the two stray cats that have latched onto us.

Since my wife is the dominant animal lover in the family, the pooper-scooper duties are mostly hers by default. She takes care of the litter box. And, since she’s most likely to be the one walking our big dog Rodney, she takes care of his business, too.

It’s a heavy responsibility. Without going into too much detail (I’m saving that for later) Rodney is a really big dog. And really big dogs drop really big …

Let’s just say that if we left his calling card untouched, the neighbors would likely arm themselves with pitchforks and run us out-of-town.

What holds them at bay, however, are those ubiquitous plastic grocery bags. We keep an ample supply handy because they make good poop bags after they’ve served their original purpose. Without them, we might have been tarred and feathered by now.

When Rodney is regular, everything comes out fine. He generally does his business during his walks, my wife cleans up after him and the neighbors are never the wiser. But when he’s irregular, things get messy.

Take last week, for instance. My wife sent me a text that made me feel fortunate that I work overnights and weekends.

It was sometime past midnight when she sent word that Rodney was having problems, that it was bad, and that it was all over the carpet in our bedroom.

I suspect that dogs have an unwritten rule about diarrhea, that it should only become overwhelming late at night to maximize the “eww” factor  when their humans are trying to sleep.

With my work schedule, such a rule would seem to play to my advantage. I even sent a reply suggesting as much, joking that  “sometimes it pays to work the overnight shift!”

But I was wrong to think that I would get out of doing my part simply because I’m often away at oh-dark-thirty.

When I got home that morning, I could see my wife must have been up for hours. I could also see that a carpet cleaner was in my immediate future. The stain looked as if it was once one of the Great Lakes.

After getting a few hours sleep, I rented a cleaner and was relieved when the stain came up almost immediately.

Then I did the rest of the carpets in our house, figuring I might as well get my money’s worth.

Rodney is not the only one who has tested my cleaning skills, lately. Every so often, our unhappy cat Skitty has to make a point about the other stray cat we took in last fall.

I was trying to nap on the couch this week when I heard her making strange noises from her normal perch on top of the dryer.

When I got up to see what was wrong, she demonstrated her displeasure at having to share her litter box.

It wasn’t the first time she has pooped on the dryer and it likely won’t be her last.

But it sure would make things less time-consuming if she and everyone else at our house would just go where they are supposed to.


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