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Ah, the joys of pet ownership
Jul. 20th, 2007 09:48 amSo I come home yesterday afternoon; thankfully I had a poop bag in my pocket (empty!) so I could take care of the disemboweled vole that Mamacat left for me on the front walk and while I was at it, kicked the hairball she'd vomited onto the front stoop off into the bushes.
My task is to wash the dogs. Complicated by finding that Percy, hearing or thinking he heard thunder, tried his damndest to break down the gate on the stairs, failing, but leaving copious amounts of blood on the stairs, dripping down the wall, dripping down the bannister, up on the ceiling...although by now the toe and his nose have stopped bleeding, apparently he was able to staunch the flow on my duvet cover.
And Willow, hyped up by Percy's hysteria, has taken a giant whizz on the bedroom floor.
So, a bottle of nature's miracle (for the pee), a fresh batch of Oxyfresh (for the blood), and a roll of paper towels later... (I know, I could be one of those people who clean up after murders, except it would be too much like being at home.) I'm ready to wash the dogs.
Which I do, and by the end of it, they're both shaking ('cause it's outside, involves the garden hose and they both hate water...and Percy feels an imminent thunderstorm) and near hysterical so I want to go for a walk to calm them down. I run in for fresh (empty) poop bags and out of the corner of my eye, I see Pushkin in the living room beginning the Hurka-Gurka. But, I take the coward's way out and run out the door anyway, because Percy is now working himself into hysterics that it's going to thunder, he's alone AND wet. And decide to pick up the shampoo, hose, towels, brushes, when I get back.
My captain loves me. While we were walking, he picked up the bath stuff, cleaned up the cat vomit, thereby noticing the trash can full of bloody paper towels and didn't even call the police.
My task is to wash the dogs. Complicated by finding that Percy, hearing or thinking he heard thunder, tried his damndest to break down the gate on the stairs, failing, but leaving copious amounts of blood on the stairs, dripping down the wall, dripping down the bannister, up on the ceiling...although by now the toe and his nose have stopped bleeding, apparently he was able to staunch the flow on my duvet cover.
And Willow, hyped up by Percy's hysteria, has taken a giant whizz on the bedroom floor.
So, a bottle of nature's miracle (for the pee), a fresh batch of Oxyfresh (for the blood), and a roll of paper towels later... (I know, I could be one of those people who clean up after murders, except it would be too much like being at home.) I'm ready to wash the dogs.
Which I do, and by the end of it, they're both shaking ('cause it's outside, involves the garden hose and they both hate water...and Percy feels an imminent thunderstorm) and near hysterical so I want to go for a walk to calm them down. I run in for fresh (empty) poop bags and out of the corner of my eye, I see Pushkin in the living room beginning the Hurka-Gurka. But, I take the coward's way out and run out the door anyway, because Percy is now working himself into hysterics that it's going to thunder, he's alone AND wet. And decide to pick up the shampoo, hose, towels, brushes, when I get back.
My captain loves me. While we were walking, he picked up the bath stuff, cleaned up the cat vomit, thereby noticing the trash can full of bloody paper towels and didn't even call the police.
