Yesterday was, quite literally, a shitty day.
It was Sunday, I was planning to sleep in a bit, get ready for church and then the family was heading over to my mother-in-law's for dinner. I was hoping for a nice end to a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday weekend.
But it was not to be.
I woke at 6:45 a.m. to a weird scratchy sound. I thought maybe the cat was stuck in a room with the door shut and was batting her paws on the door, her signal to be let out. When I got up to investigate, a horrible smell hit me like a ton of bricks.
Now I don't have an easy gag reflex. (That's what he said? Oh... never mind.) What I mean is, that I normally can stomach gross things. Puke, crap, dirty laundry, sour milk, old garbage.Usually , I can deal. I don't like to smell it, mind you, but it doesn't knock me flat like yesterday's smell did.
I groaned and looked around for the inevitable pile that I knew Reggie had to have left somewhere. I found one by the front door. "Aw, what a good boy." I thought, "He was trying to make it outside!"
I cleaned it up, let the furball outside, yelled at him to get out of the neighbors' yard, and called him in. As I was getting ready to go back to bed, I noticed that the smell wasn't quite gone yet. I followed my nose and found the most DEEESSSSGUSTING sight. On the stairs.
The carpeted stairs. An explosion took place on those stairs. It was all down the stairs and on the wall. It was everywhere! Seriously, I can't figure out how Reggie managed to defecate in such an extraordinary manner. I want to hurl just thinking about it. It was early morning, everyone in the house was still asleep, so I found some rubber gloves, put on one of those mask things that make you smell your own breath for as long as you wear them, and got to work cleaning it up.
Did I mention that we hosted Thanksgiving dinner for 17 people? Uh... there were recognizable bits of said dinner on my stairs. I know that's gross, y'all, but I'm painting a picture here.
Anyway. I spent close to an hour cleaning up the mess. Afterward I decided to shower and get ready for church. I put Reggie in his kennel while I was getting ready. I got out of the bathroom and was instantly hit again with THE SMELL.
Poor pup had gone in his kennel and was bathing in his filth. It looked like a mud puddle. Too much description? Sorry.
So I had to give him a bath and clean out the kennel, and then bleach the bathtub and the tile and the floor that Reggie walked on the way to the bathtub. But as I was doing that, I heard The Boy shout at the dog. He'd started to go AGAIN in the kitchen and ran away from The Boy through the dining room and living room, leaving a trail that looked like Hershey's syrup the whole entire way.
God in heaven, how did he have that much shit inside of him?
I almost pulled my hair out. By this time, the whole family was up, thanks to my screeching like a complete lunatic, and The Husband got the dog outside and put him on a chain so he wouldn't go anywhere.
I set to clean up the trail of nastiness, and all of a sudden, The Husband calls to me from the basement. "Hon, you'd better come see this..."
Turns out that the Big Guy Upstairs didn't think we had enough crap on our plate to deal with, so he decided to have the effing septic tank back up into the basement too. All over Hollywood's floor, coating her clothes (she of course hadn't cleaned her room), her area rug, and into The Husband's workshop.
Not kidding. Now there was dog shit upstairs and shit water downstairs.
Needless to say, we didn't make it to mass yesterday, and we had to call my mother-in-law to tell her we'd be very late for dinner.
But, after scrubbing and cleaning, and bleaching, and burning every scented candle I could find, I think it's safe to take a deep breath in our house again.
And Reggie? Well, he's much better today. In fact, he's back in his favorite spot on the couch next to me, hogging the pillows, as I write this:
*photo of Reggie on the sofa:
It's a good thing we love our furball so darn much.