I'm hot, flushed and short of breath.
Some of you are thinking, "Oh, you naughty girl! A little morning delight?"
Yep, that's exactly what it was that has gotten me in such a state. If by morning delight you mean cleaning up the offal of the menagerie of animals I've chosen to accumulate. Yes, chose. So I am entirely to blame but that doesn't mean I don't question my choices.
I have two cats and two dogs. Melody was the very first pet my two oldest children and I acquired almost 11 years ago. She was the cutest kitten ever. Justine, who was not quite five at the time, christened her 'Princess Melody'. Right off the bat, the Princess was quite vocal. I thought maybe this was because she was home alone all day while I was at work and the kids were at school. So, late November of the very same year, I brought home Callie. Callie is a bitchy Calico cat who is the only one who does no harm around here.
This is further proof that being a bitch is where it's at.
Then I married Ryan. Ryan is more of a dog person. So when his uncle offered to help us get a puppy to repay our son for a very good deed, I was swayed. Besides, who can resist a Golden Retriever puppy?! Not I. Welcome Toby. Welcome Toby and the roughly 17 pounds of hair he sheds each and every day whether I brush him religiously or not. Welcome Toby of the sensitive stomach who's vomit, when sick, is the only kind that has ever made me vomit while cleaning it up.
So, cut to July 2010. Probably losing my job. Seems like the best time ever to purchase yet another dog. Really didn't have any intention but went into a pet store, on a whim one day, and fell in love with the asshole we now call Chuy (pronounced 'Chewy' but if you spell it like get a clue and watch a little Chelsea Lately).
Chuy is a Shitzu-Yorkie mix. His dad was 5 lbs and his mom was 10 lbs (so clearly his dad was also a chubby chaser). I assumed this would yield roughly a 7-8 pound dog that I would tote along with me wherever I went, just like the celebs do.
Chuy weighs 15+ pounds and is a sloth who likes to eat bathroom garbage, shit in the basement and piss in my 8 year old's room when he can't get into ours. He is nearly two.
When I told my Dad about this problem he offered a suggestion I figured was worthwhile. He suggested I put puppy pads in the rooms where he still chooses to relieve himself in and at the very least it'd be easier to clean up and might the final step towards training him on all three levels of the house.
Great idea! Sure, why not. I have puppy pads already because Melody, the eldest, likes to stand in the litter box (which was upgraded to a Rubbermaid container a few years ago at the suggestion of a good friend who has a lot of cats and seems to know what she's doing) and piss up against the wall. So one corner of our laundry room is cordoned off with plastic walls, floor, puppy pads and a giant fucking container for a litter box and there is still piss everywhere.
So I set out the puppy pads. The ones I put in the basement seemed to create a nice soft place for Chuy to stand on while he shit on the carpet. His feet remained pristine, I imagine, while the carpet did not. The one I put in my son's room? Got kicked around the room and mangled untiI I threw it out. Besides, Chuy hadn't peed in there in ages. Seems like the problem was solved!
Or he was simply waiting for me to remove the offending pad so he could get right back in there and find new places to pee.
If I'm so uptight, why don't I get rid of them?
Ugh, because they are part of the freaking family. They all have middle names: Melody Ann, Callie Beatrice, Tobias Henry and Chuy Alejandro (our little Latino friend). I do specific 'voices' for each one.
I may be slightly crazy but mostly attached and can't imagine what would run through each of their individual minds if we were to find them new homes.
So instead, every day or every other day I am hunched in the corner of the laundry room, scooping litter, changing pads, wiping the entire area down with paper towel, Lysol wipes and then spraying it with a heavy-duty pet odour remover. Then if the door to the family room in the basement has accidentally been left open, I go in to take care of turd removal.
So here I sit, hot, sweaty and slightly grateful for the head cold ruining my very existence right now because it meant today I was unable to smell anything. I am grateful for this. See? See how I put a positive spin on everything?! Man, I'm getting so good at this positivity stuff.