As I begin typing the phrase, “Has this ever happened to you?” I realize that it is probably a moot question. Either you don’t live in a disgusting house like I do, or you’re too smart to admit it publicly. That’s cool. I respect that.
But as I am apparently not too smart to publicly air my shameful ways, I will go ahead with my story…
I’m running late to
volunteer reading to needy children deliver the print-outs of Rhode Island’s state bird, tree and flower (red rooster, red maple and violet if you’re wondering) that my own needy child forgot to mention he needed until we were leaving the house this morning. I was writing like a fool all morning, frantically trying to finish projects by their deadline for once, and I didn’t even get to jump into the shower until after noon.
Growing up on a farm helped me perfect my get-ready-in-5-minutes-or-less routine. Because there was always a drought or an impending drought looming, we could only fill the bathtub with enough water so that the bottom of the tub was just barely covered. As soon as the water reached the back of the tub, we had to wrench those knobs to the right as fast as we could or risk the dreaded “wasting water” lecture. (Believe me, no one wants to hear that.)
Needless to say, when you’re bathing in barely a 1/2 inch of water, you’re not going to lay back and linger.
And don’t get me started on how pointless it is to try to add bubbles.
But never relaxing in the tub for fear of frostbite conditioned me to now shower quickly and efficiently. And, let’s face it, I don’t have a lot to work with, so beautifying myself after the shower doesn’t take long either.
morning afternoon, I was in and out of the shower, dried my hair, brushed my teeth and was finally feeling fresh and human when I opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom.
And felt something squish beneath my foot.
And saw my dog sitting nearby with a sheepish look in his eyes.
Nothing like stepping out of the bathroom all fresh and clean right into a freshly laid turd.
Why does my dog see our home as his toilet?
The part of me that likes to look on the bright side and see the best in everyone (and everydog) thinks that maybe it’s because the dog is too timid and polite. He doesn’t want to disturb us to let us know that it’s indeed potty time. He lets us go about our business while he does his in the hall.
He just doesn’t want to be a bother.
Maybe he somehow inherited it from me, the one who never wants to speak up or put anyone out.
The one who walked into her fourth grade classroom on her birthday (of all days), threw up on the floor and then proceeded to wait my turn for 5 minutes in the line that snaked around Mrs. Mattock’s desk to tell her that I just threw up. (5 minutes ago.)
However, when examining this theory I have to remind myself that the dog not only poops inside when we’re busy doing other things, but also right after we’ve taken him outside and walked around for 5 minutes precisely for that reason.
So maybe it’s not that he’s just too nice to interrupt our lives.
Which, frankly, makes me feel a little better. He would have to be pretty dumb to think that taking him outside to do his deed would be more of a bother than scraping his deed off my foot.
At least he’s not dumb.
Aye, there’s a possibility. And we’ll throw “poorly trained” into the ring as well.
Crap, why does it always fall back on me? (Literally.)
But on the bright side (because there always is one), it’s hard not to be humble when your cleaning dog poop from between your toes…