The One Liner...

For those of you that rely on my blog to know what is going on in my life, this post probably won't make much sense, so let me update you quickly before going on to what I actually wanted to write about. Here is what is new (in order of relevance, not importance):

1. I got a puppy! ( This is relevant to this post) His name is Sir Ichabod Crane (Icky for short) and here he is:

I have no idea what a dog this spoiled has to look so disgruntled about...

2. I got engaged (to Charles, you may remember him from previous posts such as "Urine? Im Out.") (This is not relevant to this post, but will be the subject of a later one)


Now that you are up to date...

Charles and I were both home the other day. As I walked into the living room I caught Icky in mid-poop-crouch on the rug near his play pen.

"Mid-poop-crouch"

It should go without saying that that is NOT where he was supposed to be going poop, and so I scooped him up and plunked him on his potty pads so he could finish his business.


At this point in the story it is critical to add that Icky has this cute, but somewhat unusual, habit of preferring to eat his kibble when it has been spread around on the ground. Food that has been sitting in his dish undisturbed for half a day suddenly becomes especially irresistible if it is removed from the dish and scattered across the floor. That being said, it isn't unusual to see fairly sizable quantities of kibble strewn across our living room floor at any given time.

I am not sure if anyone else has noticed this, but when you're looking for MIA (Missing In Action) poops without your glasses on, suddenly EVERYTHING on the floor, from raw-hide chews to remote controls, begins to look suspiciously like doo-doo, and kibble on the ground in small groupings is no exception.

To be sure what I was looking at wasn't just some rouge kibble, I took a step forward to get a closer look. As I did so I managed to place the middle of my right foot directly on top of a piece of dog dooty, strategically camouflaged by the dark rug it was on.

The sound that spew forth from my lips probably sounded a little like this:

AAaaaAAaaaRRRRrrrRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!

Using the toilet paper that was supposed to be used for picking up poop, not wiping it off the bottom of my foot, I tried to remove the doo-doo the best I could and in the process managed to rip the TP and get some on my fingers. I requested that Charles, instead of laughing at me, go and get a baby wipe so I could cleaning off my hand/foot.

Instead of getting a baby wipe, Charles went into the kitchen to get me a wet nap that he had taken from Montana's (the restaurant).

He handed it to me and said: