WARNING: I'm going to curse, yell and misspell below because its already been one of "THOSE DAYS".
Every morning lately, it seems I temporarily loose my hearing and fail to wake up to the blaring beeping of the alarm. So as I jolt out of bed 45 minutes passed the initial alarm beep, I hastily herd my three groggy dogs outside through the door in my bedroom that leads to the backyard. Sprinting to the bathroom, I pull the curling iron out of my bottom drawer and spend the next 90 valuable seconds trying to untangle the cords of the curling iron, straightener and phone chargers--attempt failed. So basically I have to curl my hair whilst my phone charger hangs down at my feet along for the ride.
Barefoot and makeup half on, I frantically throw dog food into three bowls and run outside to serve the Kings of our household their breakfast. And then I step in dog shit. A big pile of steaming hot, freshly deposited, dog crap. Mind you, if I would have been prancing around in my underwear, barefoot in the grass at 7:30 this morning, I might have watched where I was stepping....but right outside the backdoor?? Normally, I would not think that my pea size brained dogs could scubcum to that kind of disrespect- I was wrong. Dead wrong.
So, after I attempt to wash the soggy poop off my foot in the pool water, while breathing through my mouth in attempt to ignore the smell (chlorine kills that ...right??) I search to find something to pick the pile of poop up with before Buckethead sees what these dog's he borderline hates, have done and transforms into something that the devil incarnate would tremble at the sight. So I am running amok through out the back yard trying to come up with something -ANYTHING- to scoop up the poop discretely. There's nothing; although I did contemplate using my step-daughter's bathing suit bottoms but decided against it at the last minute. At this point there is only one other option, so I carefully choose the biggest leaf from our Potato plant and shout up a little prayer that my fingers don't get too contaminated by the remains of Harley- the basset hound's dinner. In one swift movement I grab the poop take a giant leap towards the flowerbed and throw the poop in the air making thus causing a perfect landing behind the shrubs.
So, given my success, my head is held a little higher with pride as I turn around to face the three dogs. We are in a stare off--I'm trying not to blink and loose my focus on the big eared dumbo who is found guilty of this travesty. 30 seconds pass. Harley finally cracks under the pressure of my glare and slowly rises, walking toward me and away from his protection of the covered porch. For an instant I believe he is coming to apologize; to sacrifice his favorite bone as a peace offering or offer a friendly hand lick as a truce. Instead, he hikes his leg, whilst maintaining his eye contact with me and pees a giant puddle of pee on the flagstone....not the grass, not even remotely close to the grass. He did it to spite me.
"Euthanasia was in your future before I brought you home? Your ass was grass!" - I scream at the dog who is still peeing a river that is now streaming down the concrete in my direction.
Stick a fork in me...I'm done. Anybody want a dog....or three dogs? Anybody??? Anybody???