Yesterday I came home from a little trip to a nearby cafe to find my dog, caked in shit. Human shit. Specifically toddler shit from a diaper he’d dragged out of the bathroom trash where my nanny had stuck her two-year-old’s diaper for reasons I have yet to understand and she’s lucky I love her because OMG IT WAS HORRIFYING (yes I have a part-time nanny, no I am not rich or fancy. In Salt Lake it takes a year or two to get into a daycare and mamma’s gotta work, yall).
So I walk in my house, Facetiming my mom so she can see Leo since she rarely comes to visit on account of her agoraphobia. So we are facetiming and I’m distracted and she’s like, “let me see him sit up!” And I get all excited because babies are like little fleshy entertainment centers and I’m like, “OKAY!” and I throw down the diaper bag and am propping him up on a play matt when I get the first whiff of death. Something has died. What has died? I smell Leo’s ass because he’s been known to drop some unbelievably disgusting shits. He doesn’t smell. Then, Oliver, my evil poodle, comes into view.
Oliver has brown smears across his mouth, on his legs, across his side and my eyes slowly move to our cream linen couch (yes, a stupid color and fabric choice, I know) where a diaper has been destroyed like a tornado had gotten a hold of it. There is shit smushed into every inch of the couch and I begin to dry-heave.
“Mom, I-BAH, have to call you, BAH, baack, BAAAH.”
She laughs HYSTERICALLY with my aunt who has arrived and is standing next to her when I quickly tell them what has happened.
I put Oliver outside, Leo in his crib with 10,000 toys, point a camera on him and tie a shirt around my face before diving into the literal shitshow which is my living room. It took THREE HOURS total to clean because his little poop paws also tracked shit marks all over my floors and since he’s the most hyper dog on earth it was fucking everywhere. Then I had to tie Oliver’s stinky ass to my stroller and walk two blocks to the self dog wash where Leo watched in actual horror and I scrubbed Oliver down in a dog tub. I had to keep turning around and smiling, “It’s okay Leo, I’m not hurting him, he loves it!” But Oliver was like wild-eyed and, “AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH” and Leo was looking me like WHAT ARE YOU DOING and God I hope it doesn’t become some warped memory of me torturing his beloved poodle. LET THIS BLOG POST BE A RECORD OF WHAT REALLY HAPPENED!
On the upside, Oliver is squeaky clean, my house is spotless, and I’ve learned my lesson about leaving the house without closing every goddamn door. Please pray to the universe that today is less horrifying. Sigh.