I came home early today. I excitedly walked into my sunroom, dropped my things in the kitchen, ready to cozy up with a book. I noticed a different kind of dog smell that got worse as I neared the dog room.
Ah, there it was. The sweet smell of smashed, splattered puppy poop. Charlotte slammed herself against the crate door, just as any normal genius dog would. "Mom, get me the heck away from this puppy poop. It's the worst. I never did this to you. Look how perfect I am," in her manipulate dog tone.
I let them both out of the crate. Russell had splats on his back like he had rolled in it. How could he not have? It was all over the crate.
I bathed the dogs. Threw their blanket away (sick). Rinsed out the crate with a mostly frozen hose. Vinegar and watered the floor, crate, etc.
And threw my back out.
Here I am, finally, on the couch. Except minus the book, plus a bag of chips (and washed hands).
Also, after I bathed Russ, Charlotte ever so obediently hopped in the tub.
Now they're on their bed next to Dr. Oz. Russ is sitting cutely on Charlotte's butt. Guys, he's going to be huge. It's good to eat your greens, but I will never feed Russell Brussels Sprouts again.