A big, stinky pile of love…


1.  I have three dogs.  There is Ralph, the young one, who is often found chewing unapproved random items such as flip flops, table legs and errant underwear.   Lately he has a thing for an old chess set that I have sitting in the upstairs guest room.  One by one, the pieces have made their way downstairs into his bed. Each piece now has his signature toothmarks.  

2.  I like to think that he has his buddies over while we aren’t home for a stimulating game of chess, a bowl of milk bones and a bit of manly doglike companionship.  I guess that at least it keeps him out of the bars…

3.  There is Faith, my doggy with an attitude.  She is half chihauhau, which entitles her to all kinds of snootiness.  It doesn’t take much more than the sound of the ice dropping in the ice machine to set her off on a frenzy of hysterical protectiveness.  Faith is the honorary guard to all my blog content.  She is the queen of bad breath with a major case of doggy PMS.  But we love her just the same.
4.  And there is Sandy, our sweet senior citizen Shepherd.  Sandy is 15 years old.  In doggy years that puts her well over 100.  Because of that, Sandy has a bit of an issue with maintaining the proper bathroom etiquette.  There, wasn’t that a delicate way to put it?  What I mean to say is that every single day when we get home, our precious senior has left us a very large present in the middle of the throw rug in front of the kitchen sink.  Not that I don’t appreciate the thought.  I’m sure in dog world, a big pile of stinky poop is a huge compliment.  Unfortunately, it loses something in the translation…
5.  The husband has an issue with cleaning up doggy doo.  He has to go out in the garage, put on a face mask, rubber gloves, bring in the shovel and remove the offending substance, carrying it out of the house as far in front of him as possible while gagging and fussing the whole way.  He kind of makes a spectacle of himself.  I’m guessing so that I will just throw up my hands, grab a paper towel and handle it myself.  Which come to think of it, is what I do.  He hasn’t had to clean up doodie in months.
6.  So when the husband and I started carpooling and he drops me off on the way home to go to Ladies Night Out with the girls on Wednesday nights, I was more than a little tickled at the thought that he would have to handle that doggie doo all by his little self when he got home.  I would probably have to invest in extra rubber gloves and a biohazard suit and maybe teach him to put a bit of cologne under his sensitive little nose.   Poor thing.
7.  Yet, for three weeks now, like clockwork, the only night of the week that there is no steaming present resting on our carpet is Wednesday night.  

8.  Really? What the crap?  (Pardon the pun).
9.  I’m beginning to take offense here.  The husband thinks it’s hilarious.  Just how the heck does that dog know it is Wednesday?
10.  My husband says that I should take it as a compliment as she only leaves gifts for me.

11.  This week, I plan on throwing her off her schedule by loudly announcing it is Tuesday when it really will be Wednesday.  Because I have to say that the success of a good relationship is sharing daily duties.  And I really hate for the husband to be left out of poop patrol.  I’m thoughtful like that.
12.  Hopefully, this does not throw off Ralph’s chess schedule.