Tag Archives: pets

Shitty Day


So I’ve been remiss in my blogging duties of late, and I really have no excuse, other than Netflix added a considerable number of BBC PBS specials. Forgive me, but I now know the details of Henry VIII’s home palace, and what one must do in order to protect the Queen’s Crown Jewels. (Are Crown Jewels capitalized? I feel like they should be.)

Anyhoo, I spent the week telling myself that I would not drive 15 miles to go to Caribou Coffee, unless there was a more valid reason to go to town. Luckily, this morning, I made one up, telling myself that I needed to buy body wash and face wash and curl cream made specifically for African-American tresses. (If I must, I will claim Africa as my motherland in order to use such products without being judged.) I decided to bring the dog with, since she receives puppy treats when going through the Caribou Coffee drive-thru.

When I came out from spending my allotted dollars for beauty products, I opened my truck door and was taken aback from the butt stench that wafted toward me. I discovered that puppy, (who took a massive dump before we left home) decided to take another dump, (in my truck), and without having anywhere else to retreat, stepped through it on the passenger seat and smeared it all the way across to the driver’s seat. (Um, ew does not begin to describe.)

I had bought an arsenal of Clorox wipes in the store, but alas! There is little that cleaning wipes can do in such a situation. I was forced to sit in the little bits of smushed feces that remained on my seat the entire ride home, windows open, and puppy looking sufficiently forlorn and embarrassed.

Upon arriving home, the dog got a hose-down with plenty of soap, and my poor truck got a scrubbing that I’m certain will not erase a certain odor d’Poo. Anybody want to buy a pretty yellow truck?

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Wet


I roll over in bed half-awake, or half asleep. I don’t really know what awakened me; I was having a dream, I’m sure. One of those dreams that so gloriously vivid you’re sure it’s real, but the second you open your eyes, the entirety of it is gone, and you aren’t even sure if it was there to begin with.

I spy my beloved through my sleepy haze, and a tired smile plays on my lips as I spy his naked shoulder emerging from the pile of fuzzy blankets. Even in the minimal moonlight pouring through the blinds, I can see the innumerable freckles dotting his skin like an insane connect-the-dots. I move my hand lazily across the bed to feel his skin beneath mine, but stop short when I feel a huge wet spot.

“Ugh. Gross.” I think to myself. I try to remember if the dream I was having was one of those dreams, and if this soaked area is my fault. I feel myself through my panties and don’t feel anything, but I’m a little more awake now, and begin to wonder what caused the wet spot. I think to earlier and the lyrics to a popular song come to mind: With a little bit of last night on these sheets... I grin in the dark. It’s certainly possible. But any of that would have been dry hours ago.

I bend my leg, and my bare thigh touches another spot, soggy like the first. I’m starting to get grossed out. “What the f?!” I almost utter the question aloud, but fear of waking my Rockstar. I drag my face off the pillow, where my cheek comes in contact with yet another cold, dank spot. I sit up, and wipe my face with my clean hand, sniffing it to see if I can figure out what it is. Nothing.

I try to kick the blankets off, but the dog is lying atop of them, and she’s way to heavy for my sleepy legs to lift. Her ass is facing the head of the bed, of course. It’s as if she is pointing her gaseous tush at our faces just to get us back for those times we leave her in the kennel. Just as I think it, she lets out a silent fart, that is truly gruesome in odor. I shove her butt away, disgusted, and she stands and turns so her droopy lips set right on my arm. I instantly feel drippy, and my arm is soaked like I just got out of the shower. Then it dawns on me.

I knew there was some reason why I didn’t want the dog to learn about sleeping on the bed. Because I didn’t want to wake up in a puddle of drool.

True story, bro.

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