a troubling development
our house is blessed with some of the most adorable pets on the planet. as i type, mootz is chasing the reflected light from the back of my laptop around the room as if it were a torturous, fluttering bug. you've already read of the exploits of rye -- window-jumping, foot-gnawing, and all the rest. you've seen vivian's photo. cuteness personified.
until. UNTIL. we've seen a troubling development arise.
rye. or vivian. has. been. pooping. in. the basement. ech.
note consequence #1: scene - tuesday, 7:30 am. inga and stella meet in the kitchen and decide to w-a-l-k the dogs. first, inga says, we must venture to the basement to turn on the dehumidifier, which may have the slightest inkling of a chance to keep the basement from turning into the most viable rain forest this side of costa rica. inga goes. from the basement moments later, a scream. a dog had pooped in the basement. ergh. not to be deterred, we all head out for the w-a-l-k and return just in time to make a quick run to a local bagel place for a bite before work.
a block away from the house, inga comments on the nasty smell that's following us everywhere. i lament that the entire town of xxxx is rotting. a block later, i groan that the place smells like...say it with me now...poop. inga and i exchange a oh-no-it-isn't glance, and i lift my shoe.
poop. everywhere. on my shoe. on the floormats. everywhere.
we pull up for bagels, and while inga goes in, i do the shoe-smearing dance on the grassy knoll next to the railroad tracks. finally, i resort to the grade school poop-from-shoe-extraction method of thin-stick-as-lever. i'm grossed out. then, as if that wasn't bad enough, i have to use the thinnest paper towels ever to scrub it out of the floormats. task completed, we head to work.
where we tell the story immediately. so immediately that i am still holding the paper bag containing our tightly wrapped, super-tasty lunch of berries, cheese and crackers, and yogurt. mmm. so. inga narrates. i shake my head for emphasis. and i set the lunch bag onto a table. when inga glances at the bag as i set it onto the table, a look of horror washes over her face as she raises her arm to point at the lunch bag. i look. she's right. there IS poop smeared on the side of the bag containing the most wonderful lunch we could scrap together from our meager, neglected refrigerator.
we order lunch delivered.
consequence #2: scene - wednesday, mid-morning. the dogs have been in the back yard for hours this morning while inga surfs the internet and stella tries to convince herself to get out of bed. stella comes downstairs, finally dressed and lets the dogs back into the house, and (after a moment's kitchen-chatting) inga recommends the obligatory w-a-l-k. first, as yesterday, a trek downstairs for the dehumidifier. she goes again. moments later, a scream again. this time, she stomps upstairs and, exaspirated, snatches several plastic bag. "somebody pooped in the basement again."
i ask whether she's sure its one of the dogs. i mean, they were just outside for hours. would they have been holding it out there so that they could come back in to go to the basement? surely not. inga, however, is sure that it is a dog's, and she challenges me to come for a look-see. eventually, i go. the scene is horrifying.
first, that it was dog poop is no longer in doubt. second, we no longer need to worry who is doing the pooping because it now seems as if both of them have taken the basement as their personal litter boxes.
we are now keeping the basement door closed.
until. UNTIL. we've seen a troubling development arise.
rye. or vivian. has. been. pooping. in. the basement. ech.
note consequence #1: scene - tuesday, 7:30 am. inga and stella meet in the kitchen and decide to w-a-l-k the dogs. first, inga says, we must venture to the basement to turn on the dehumidifier, which may have the slightest inkling of a chance to keep the basement from turning into the most viable rain forest this side of costa rica. inga goes. from the basement moments later, a scream. a dog had pooped in the basement. ergh. not to be deterred, we all head out for the w-a-l-k and return just in time to make a quick run to a local bagel place for a bite before work.
a block away from the house, inga comments on the nasty smell that's following us everywhere. i lament that the entire town of xxxx is rotting. a block later, i groan that the place smells like...say it with me now...poop. inga and i exchange a oh-no-it-isn't glance, and i lift my shoe.
poop. everywhere. on my shoe. on the floormats. everywhere.
we pull up for bagels, and while inga goes in, i do the shoe-smearing dance on the grassy knoll next to the railroad tracks. finally, i resort to the grade school poop-from-shoe-extraction method of thin-stick-as-lever. i'm grossed out. then, as if that wasn't bad enough, i have to use the thinnest paper towels ever to scrub it out of the floormats. task completed, we head to work.
where we tell the story immediately. so immediately that i am still holding the paper bag containing our tightly wrapped, super-tasty lunch of berries, cheese and crackers, and yogurt. mmm. so. inga narrates. i shake my head for emphasis. and i set the lunch bag onto a table. when inga glances at the bag as i set it onto the table, a look of horror washes over her face as she raises her arm to point at the lunch bag. i look. she's right. there IS poop smeared on the side of the bag containing the most wonderful lunch we could scrap together from our meager, neglected refrigerator.
we order lunch delivered.
consequence #2: scene - wednesday, mid-morning. the dogs have been in the back yard for hours this morning while inga surfs the internet and stella tries to convince herself to get out of bed. stella comes downstairs, finally dressed and lets the dogs back into the house, and (after a moment's kitchen-chatting) inga recommends the obligatory w-a-l-k. first, as yesterday, a trek downstairs for the dehumidifier. she goes again. moments later, a scream again. this time, she stomps upstairs and, exaspirated, snatches several plastic bag. "somebody pooped in the basement again."
i ask whether she's sure its one of the dogs. i mean, they were just outside for hours. would they have been holding it out there so that they could come back in to go to the basement? surely not. inga, however, is sure that it is a dog's, and she challenges me to come for a look-see. eventually, i go. the scene is horrifying.
first, that it was dog poop is no longer in doubt. second, we no longer need to worry who is doing the pooping because it now seems as if both of them have taken the basement as their personal litter boxes.
we are now keeping the basement door closed.
posted by stella at 7:58 AM
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