Aaaah...the life of a mom and dad. Now I know that you're asking yourself right now, "MOM AND DAD?! WHAT?!! THEY'RE PREGANT?!!" No. Absolutely not. I am referring to our lovely puppies who seem to always fill our lives with (usually unwanted) excitement.
For those of you that don't know, I started working at Wells Fargo last week. I get off work around 6:15 and PRAISE THE LORD I only have about a ten minute commute. Yes, you heard me. TEN MINUTES. Anyway, much to my misfortune, Bryce was on his way home later than normal tonight and I actually beat him home. Lately, we have been arguing back and forth about me making the dogs stay outside during the day. Okay, I'll be honest. It's really not arguing...it's more of me getting in trouble for not doing what I'm told...and you bet your sweet cheeks that it came back and bit me royally today.
As I pulled into the driveway, all I could think about was getting inside and fixing dinner. I walked through the door and this extremely foul odor smacked me square in the face. I frantically ran around to try to find it so I could dispose of the evidence before Bryce got home because I knew what was coming for me if I didn't get rid of it. It's usually Diva, so I started yelling at her while I was sniffing around for the terds that she usually leaves under the table (I guess because she thinks we won't find it...or that's the only place Moose can't get to her.) Well, it took me about 15 seconds to find it...
As I rounded the corner and walked into the living room, there it was...probably the biggest square footage of catastrophic dog diarreah one has ever seen in their lifetime. Not only was it a wonderful mixture of solid, slightly solid and liquid, as Moose relieved himself the excrement hit our hard wood floors ever so nicely and SPLATTERED. EVERYWHERE. Floors, walls, baseboards, furniture. He dropped a bomb and it exploded right in our living room, and I had the honor of trying to do damage control. Fabulous.
As I stood there frantic, knowing there was ABSOLUTELY NO WAY I was getting this cleaned up before Bryce got home, I started gagging because the whole freaking house reaked of Moose doo doo. When Bryce drove up, I told him I needed his help...and he then ever so sweetly reminded me that I was the one who kept the dogs inside. There was no other way to get rid of this mess than to just dive in, so I did. Well, first I went upstairs (side note: it smelled WORSE upstairs because the fumes had time to float to the second floor and so wonderfully ferment in our bedroom...) and got one of Bryce's bandanas that I so horribly loathe and tied it around my face because if I smelled anymore of that putrid stench, there would be vomit all over the floor to go along with the remnants of Pedigree. I looked like an old-timey western bank robber with that thing on my face.
So, after about ten rags and an entire roll of paper towels, spraying vinegar and mopping with boiling water, the atomic bomb had been properly disposed of and a haz mat shower was in need for all who had been inside the Thompson house.
Sweet Lord, God Almight I pray that I NEVER come home to a nice little surprise like that ever again in my entire life. Needless to say, both of our appetites were definitely surpressed.
I would post pictures of the disaster...but I figure there might be some law against traumatic photographs or something. Well that and I can't find my camera.