Inappropriate sharing, incomprehensible ramblings, uncalled-for hostility: yup, it's a blog.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

In which we get a new dog

First thing’s first: yes, I’ve cleaned up Waffles’ shit. Just now, actually. While going into the bathroom to pee.

Thirty minutes out, wandering a park and upper Broadway, and the dog didn’t do anything except trot along the sidewalk. In the apartment for ten minutes just after the walk, and he takes a dump that by rights should require the aid of Egyptian slaves.

And I stepped in it.

Crushed his mighty pile into the tile of our bathroom. Just now. I left the kitchen, and went into the bathroom, and felt something squish under my foot, and thought I'd stepped on a mouse again (yes, again).

I don't know what the previous owner was feeding this dog but he shat like a moth: a woolen, organic, clumpy sort of shit that felt like stepping onto a moist shag rug.

So I stood in the bathroom, my right leg raised, dog poop dangling from my right foot, hanging there by a (literal) fine thread, and I thought to myself, "Greg said he'd make sure this dog wouldn't shit in the house."

I wasn't angry. I was just being a cat person. We cat people never deal with shit, unless it's to scoop it out of a tray and into the garbage.

Greg's definitely a dog person. He's thrilled with the new dog, and can't wait to get off work and take him out to the park.

And I admit I'm enjoying the dog too. At least when he shits in the floor, it's as easy to clean up as if I'm picking up a sweater.

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