Friday, May 27, 2011

Day 598

Please don’t give me dog poo.

You all know it.  I can’t do dog poo.  I can’t look at it, smell it or even think about it. Dog poo makes me chunder. Give me elephant poo, horse poo, rabbit poo, duck poo, mouse poo, bird poo, baby poo … hell, I could probably even do your granddads poo … just don’t give me dog poo.

Yesterday was a great day.  It was a beautiful autumn day where lots of home-office work got sorted, filing was done, the computer was cleaned up and a business proposal was started.  I was on fire!! I even baked muffins, did some washing and tidied the house.  It was a good day.  Until dog poo arrived …

Darby had a mate over. He’s a new friend who he met playing soccer. They had just been to training and were home playing in what was left of the daylight hours.  I was wandering around the house tidying up a few last things and trying to get dinner started. That’s when I smelt it. The boys had just walked in and I could smell the very strong smell of turd.  I went to investigate and saw a chunk mashed into my carpet.  And another, and another.  “Who has poo on their shoe?”  The little boy quietly replied “I think I do”.  I walked around the house and found it in the lounge room, family room, bathroom and Darby’s bedroom.  You have got to be kidding me!!! Could there have been a bigger poo?  I started screaming under my breath and retching silently.  The poor kid took refuge to the bathroom.  I told him it was ok, It happens. (What does? Shit … thanks Forrest.) And the clean up began. Tissues and paper towel and hot soapy water and mops and disinfectant. Husband and I together taking battle on the shit heap.  It took over our evening. But we got there in the end. When it was over I put it behind me, smiled scrubbed my hands and moved on.

Until ...

Two hours later I was in the bathroom and the stench returned. What the?!  Where the hell is it?  I looked in every corner, in the toilet, the bath, the shower. I scouted and hunted and let my nose do the thinking.  Finally I came across something that made me hurl.  The clues were clear.  There was no denying it.  The crime scene was alive with proof and scientific fact. The poor kid had obviously tried to clean himself up … he’d done his best … and then hidden the evidence.  There at the back of my towel rack was my nice fluffy Sheridan bath towel and matching face cloth covered in chunks of canine defecation.  This had been no ordinary dog poo. This was a turbo turd that had taken over my entire house, my senses and was chipping away at my sanity.  I threw up and then went to bed.  

Please don’t give me dog poo. Ok? 

It's Friday! That means there is blog flogging to be done.


  1. Oh dear god. You sound so sane and calm.

    Holy FARK! I have no other words...

  2. OMG! I hope it comes out of your towel - will you use it again even if it does?


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