This morning Moose outdid himself. He regularly manages to pee
on his own foot, which I can’t quite figure out. In a flat yard, he can somehow manage to find a
mound or incline, then pee so it runs down the slope onto the rear foot that is
on the ground. Time after time.
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| Sir Poop Foot, fresh from the bath. |
This morning he went
out to the back yard as usual, and on the way back in, stepped in his own freshly
planted poop. Then he trotted to the door to enter the house. Of course, the paper towels, soap, and everything else remotely
helpful were inside the house. Moose and I were outside, which necessitated opening
the door. Old Poop Foot darted in and began tracking a poop paw print all over the
kitchen floor. Then he laid down in the
office nook and began licking his poop foot.
At least he was momentarily sitting still, which provided
the opportunity to try to clean the offensive foot. There are many nooks between
pads and toes in which such offensive material can collect. And it did. It took too many
paper towels, a pre-moistened makeup remover cloth, and a conscious override of my
gag reflex to clean this most disgusting foot. Even after the cleanup, the
smell lingered for hours, trapped in my sinuses.
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| One gets poop foot, two get baths. |
The morning poop foot episode led to the morning wiping of the floor and the clearing of a portion of the
hectic Friday-eve Netflix viewing schedule to accommodate a bathing schedule.
If one dog gets a bath, both dogs get a bath. Both Canine
Overlords now smell fresh like their oatmeal dog shampoo. The aftermath of the
bathing was mopping the now wet bathroom floor. Enough hair was cleaned out of the tub to build another dog, and now Mommy
needs some wine. Welcome to the glamorous life at the BungaLowell.
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