Mary woke me early to help her clean up a mess our Yorkie, Trixie, made as we slept. Being groggy, I rolled out of bed and discovered the mess for myself as I stepped in it.
Now mind you, Yorkie’s by nature are very small dogs, ours weighs in at less than five-pounds. So how much poop can such a tiny dog leave in its wake?
I figured a log or two – but no – she planted an entire forest. Since she was shuttered behind a closed-door all night, like every night, I cannot discipline her for this ‘accident.’
My use of the word ‘accident’ is largely based on a lack of knowing what else to call it. Trixie is nearly 14-years old and has been house-broken since puppy-hood.
So if this wasn’t an accident and was done on purpose, we have a real problem. And more than likely that problem will turn out to be induced by a decline in her health.
Anyway – I’m up for the day, but not for the lack of returning to bed at one point. I crawled between the sheets only to find poop there too.
“Ah, shit!” I stated aloud, meaning it not only figuratively, but literally as well.
“Now I have bedding to wash,” I heard myself exclaim, “and she’s such a tiny dog!”