Saturday Laura called me as I was pulling into my neighborhood on my way home from the shore. I ran into the house and right upstairs to pee because best friends can talk on the phone while they're peeing.
Gus had followed me up. Gus is 12. Gus is an incontinent walking pooper. Gus was so excited I was home that he did the walking pooping. Bruce Springsteen stepped in a piece and held his foot up like an alien had taken control of it. I cleaned the poop up, tossed it into the toilet, said my goodbyes without even mentioning this poopscapade, and further scarred the puppy by cleaning him off with water.
To reiterate: a dog pooped in the hallway, another dog stepped in it, and I was so unfazed that I didn't even yelp or mention it on the phone. When I came down and told MFD what transpired, he barely acknowledged it before we started talking about dinner.
I could regal you with so many stories that are absurd and hilarious, but that's probably enough grossness for one morning.
If you would have told me before I got dogs that I'd be like oh there's poop in the house, let me clean that up and go about my business, I would have laughed in your face.
But here I am, on a Wednesday in December 2017, offering it up to the Internet that I am a person who has become totally casual about poop incidents. This is what you get when I just post off the cuff, topical to my life right now blog posts.
Is it wrong to wish my Dad and Carol a happy 20th anniversary at the bottom of a poop post? Sorry guys. Love you and happy anniversary!
So how's your day going?
