With a title like that and all that my life has been lately, you might think I was being metaphorical.
Naaah. I'm being literal.
After going to bed early last night I was prodded awake at 11 pm by my daughter. The dog had diarrhea. All over the living room.
In his infinite wisdom, he chose to be terrified by the gastric eminences coming from his nethers. He felt that the situation called for running circles around the room, leaving a trail behind him that Hansel and Gretel could have seen on Google Earth.
How many rolls of paper towel does it take to scrub up a poopy avalanche? Two. How many gallons of water does it take to wash away a fecal tidal wave? One. And how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop? I believe the answer is three.
He spent the evening sleeping in our breeze way just in case the spirit moved him again. Thankfully it didn't.
I swear, this dog will eat anything and everything. Yesterday he tried to drink water from a drainpipe but I thought I got to him before he had the chance. Now I'm thinking I was wrong. A couple weeks ago I had the dogs out for a walk in the wee hours of the morning and he picked something up off the ground and started chewing...and chewing...and chewing. When I was finally able to wrestle his jaw open I found a wad of bubblegum. For anyone even slightly familiar with how cute Corgis are, just picture one walking down the sidewalk blowing bubbles.
That image is the only thing that kept me from weeping last night.