Let me share a little life lesson with you’all. Do not, under any circumstances, feed your large-size dogs ham bones. If you value your own peace of mind, the sanity of those you love and your brand new pair of Birkenstocks, DO NOT give them ham bones. You will learn, as I have, to regret it.
So here’s the story.
My aunt, who I love very much, made ham pot pie. If you don’t know about ham pot pie I truly feel sorry for you cause it’s one of the finer things in life. It’s so damn good. It’s one of my favorite things (someday I’ll do a blog on my favorite things). But anyway, being the great aunt that she is, she shared it.
And she’s a good aunt to my dogs because she packed up the ham bones and gave them to my two Labs. She gave a bunch of ham scraps to the Shit-zuh because she is a lady and would never reduce herself to gnawing on a bone. Oh she’ll rip your finger to the bone to get a scrap of ham, but she won’t gnaw. It’s not what a dog of her lineage does. But that too is another blog.
So I’m smart, I know about Labrador digestion and I know about Labrador gas. I hand out the bones on the way out the door.
“Bone for you…and a bone for you. Go make nice in the back yard. See you after you’ve each shit at least twice. Mommy loves you.”
Genius, pure genius.
Or so I thought.
Fast forward to 5:30 this morning when I can’t understand why I’ve woken up a half hour before my alarm goes off. And then it hits me. Literally, IT hits me. I smell dog shit. Great. I’m the only adult home. Who am I kidding? It wouldn’t matter if I had an army of adults at home; I am the only one who is going to clean up the dog shit. My adorable, loving, can’t get enough of him, husband doesn’t have the stomach for it. He’d gag. And while him gagging usually makes me laugh, I’m feeling kinda guilty tucked in bed while he’s working and I know I need to clean it up. Plus, the stench…well, it drove me out of bed.
And there it was. A pile of dog shit on the entryway tile. At least it wasn’t the carpet; I sigh and hop over it on my way to the kitchen to get paper towels and cleaner. At least it wasn’t runny, I think as my stomach begins to protest. I managed to get through it because I’m so tough. I stepped out on the porch to toss my bag into the garbage can only to see the newspaper delivery lady on the next porch. I’m wearing a wife beater and panties. She’s lucky I’ve got that much on.
My husband comes home weary from work and like an absolute doll he takes the hairy bastards out to work the rest of the ham out of their systems. We leave them out for a good while. When we go out to get them, I can smell the success. Literally, their shit is so toxic it stunk up outside. The entire outside. My neighbors disapprove.
Well, glad we got that out of the way. Mental note: no more ham bones. And we go upstairs to snuggle.
About an hour later, I’m back downstairs for clothes. And to clean up another pile of dog shit. What is this all about? Didn’t they stink up the back yard already? And this one’s a little nastier. It’s an uglier, meaner poop and it’s not going away without a fight. My stomach lets me know it’s not happy. I tell myself to breathe through my mouth so I can’t smell it. Having my mouth open around such nasty shit makes me want to vomit. I almost get my wish. But again, I’m tough as they come and I nut up and do it.
At lunch time, I’m not feeling too good and decide a quick trip home would do the trick. I open my front door and step directly into a pile of dog shit. Funny thing, you know exactly what you’ve stepped in the exact second you step in it. I’m wearing my new Birkenstocks. They are beautiful and now they’ve been shitified.
To my horror, there are four (yes four) piles of poo in my entry way. Four stinking piles of poo that range from mushy and smelly to runny and putrid. I want to die. I want to kill the dogs. They are so happy that I surprised them with a noon time visit. Dogs are so damn dumb.
I leave my Birkies parked at the front door, ready to cry over them and slip on a pair of pink flip flops that my daughter and I both hate. I take the jackasses out to again relieve themselves. I come back in, chug an Alka-Seltzer and look at the poo. It hasn’t cleaned itself up. I consider bolting out the door and leaving it. I know I can’t. My husband is peacefully sleeping upstairs and my middle son is at school. Both would discover this mess before my daughter and I got home and it would be easy to make it one of their problems. But again, I know I can’t. My husband would die and my son would kill and either way, I’d be left scrubbing blood and shit up off the floors.
I grab more paper towels, a pair of rubber gloves, the Frebreez, Swifter Wets, and a dish towel. I tied the dish towel around my face. I snapped on the gloves and armed with paper towels, I try to pick up the mess. It nearly does me in. I gag and spit and gag some more. I look at the door and wished to hell I’d never walked in. I look out the back door and wished I’d never gotten dogs. I hate ham pot pie and it’s waste by-products. But again, I’m a tough bitch and I get the job done. Then I go for the beasties.
Again, they’ve managed to smell up outside. I’m amazed and disgusted at the same time. How do they do that? Actually make the outside stink? It’s too much for me to think about. I bring them in and grab some Pepto Bismul pills and I go to work.
There was one more incident of poo but for now, we’re enjoying a tentative peace. There’s smell, but not substance to it. I’ve put them out more times than I can count and I’ve called my favorite aunt and told her the next time she’s got ham bones, I’m bringing Nit and Wit to her. We are going to get through this. We will smile again and I will at some point, probably next week, love my dogs again. It’s a healing process but we’re coping.
I just heard a crash and found the cat knocked over a bowl and broke it. On my way out the door to take out the broken pieces, I noticed that there are two dark stains on my tile. The poo was so toxic it stained tile. What kind of shit does that? And if it did that to flooring, what the hell does it do to the inside of a dog?
These are questions I don’t want to answer. I’m ending now and going to the kitchen for a Nexium. I’m going to wash it down with a glass of wine and I’m going to bed. If there’s shit in my hallway again in the morning; I’m moving out. Anyone got an extra bed?