In my 6:30 haze, I remembered our dog, Walt, whining at 3 a.m. He woke me up, but apparently I rolled over and fell back to sleep while Walt decided to problem solve the situation on his own. “Not going to let me out, woman? Well, here’s to a morning of get-down-on-your-hands-and-knees scrubbing and an odor that’ll beat the hell out of any dog fart I’ve ever let loose.” Our ENTIRE house is hardwood floors, except for the family room and that is where our evil dog decided to cast out his bowels. Thankfully, this rug is already disgusting and is on our to-do list to hit the dumpster in the next few months. Looks like it’ll be sooner rather than later.
I couldn’t blame Walt, though. Walt is 4 ½ years-old and hasn’t had an accident in the house since he was being house trained which took all of one week – I’m not kidding you, this dog has been awesome in that department. I let Walt out yesterday at about 6 p.m. He usually goes out for the last time at about 8:30 p.m. I never let him out for his last hurrah. So he reminded me of this and I paid dearly. And while my husband gagged and sat with Monkey Man on his lap while Mommy did a little pre-Mother’s Day cleaning, Monkey Man helpfully pointed and remarked, “You missed a spot.”