I’ve spoke before of mine and Jamie’s aversion to having house pets; our hits and our misses, of life with animals. In the end we have mutually came to the conclusion that having a pet is just not for us.
I am not overly emotional about the situation either way. I feel I have came to this neutral place in life, where I can enjoy other peoples animals, but feel content not to have my own.
Jamie on the other hand, is not a fan of any house pet at all, feeling that animals should live outdoors and not in the confines of one’s home. Over the years I have simply come to accept this intolerance of my husband’s with a suggestive humor. Often referring to animals as human infants or myself as their mother. This infuriates the man, and in the end I take great joy in his discomfiture.
Yesterday, our long time friend Chris came over to visit with his charming new girlfriend Kelsey. They also brought their eight month old puppy, Lupin.
I, once again was beginning to teeter on the edge of Jamie’s nerves as I called myself ‘Auntie Lindsay’ to the dog, and spoke to him in a sickening baby talk voice.
The looks of pure annoyance I received from the man I am married to, were flagrant. I nonchalantly shook them off continuing my pursuit of exasperation.
We had decided to move inside the house, as the mosquitoes were coming out in full force. Chris insisted that the dog stay outside, but I shook off his plea and allowed the canine in the home without a second thought.
All the while Jamie muttering things like, “That dog better not shit on my floor”.
At one point, Lupin leaped up on his mighty hind quarters and attempted…to ‘love’ Jamie. The awkwardness and discomfort my husband was putting off in that moment was all too blatant even for those who are not versed in his subtle ways.
Much to, I’m sure, Jamie’s relief they bid us goodbye.
After their departure I had a fleeting thought about rehashing the notion of getting a dog ourselves, for the kids, of course. Jamie, still a little shaken from his encounter with the humping canine did not seem up for that conversation though, so I let it lay.
This morning as I woke, a feeling of euphoria in regards to dogs still floated gaily in my mind. Still sleepy, I made my way down to the guest bedroom in our basement, which doubles as our laundry room. Hoping to find my housecoat to put on to engage in a lazy coffee drinking morning.
As I neared the area of the washing machine, I walked with brisk steps as the cold unfinished cement floor gave a chill to my feet.
In my haste to get to the new throw rug my Mother-in-Law gave us which is placed in front of the washer and dryer, I slip. Now maybe it was because I was still waking up, or maybe it was because my mind was filled with other things, but I fall face forward from this slip of the foot, and I fall hard.
Luckily, I am close enough to land upon the throw rug and not the cement floor. Unluckily I fall upon the throw rug, in which my hand falls directly atop the exact spot there is an enormous pile of steaming (well not steaming anymore) putrid dog shit.
As my palm hits the shit, it slides, creating this horrid streak of poo that smooshes into my new rug with a vengeance that’s strong and strident.
I am in shock.
‘What the hell just happened?’ I say to myself, but out loud and in a frenzy like state. I attempt to get up, I’m not sure how long I have been half laying with my ass propelled up in the air and my left hand covered in a thick brown. As I prop myself into a sitting position, I realize I have crushed the fecal matter deeper into the tope colored rug.
I look behind me and realize I had slipped on a massive puddle of urine.
The first thing that comes to mind, is that at some point yesterday, Sophie had made her way down to the basement dwelling, removed her diaper (potty training is not going well) and peed and shat all over the floor.
It would have been a probable hypothesis, expect this pile of shit that I am currently nestled snuggly into, is about the size of the child herself. Not to mention it was in a neat pile…Not Sophie style at all.
I have a transitory recollection of seeing the shit just before I hit…
No words passed through my mind before the calamity, there were no time for words….Just an idea, an idea that mimicked the feeling of;
“For the love of god….Noooooooooooooooo.”
As I scrub away at the poop, I realize that it is the smell of it, I am so not accoustomed to. Almost tart and if it had came from a child I would think it unhealthy.
Alas, it did not come from I child I conclude. It came from the dog. The dog I unruly allowed entrance into my home to. The dog that I used as ammunition against my husband, to make him feel discontented and weird.
It is then, that I realize, that maybe Jamie has something when it comes to his thoughts about animals living with people. At the very least, I know I will not be having anymore fancy-filled daydreams of canine adoption or tormenting my poor husband with off-hand remarks regarding the species.
Because for right now, I think I have my hands full with cleaning up after Lars and Sophie.