Shit happens

To my great amusement and delight, I woke up this morning to find an e-mail from my mother informing me that my dog Charlie (a 6 year old Bichon) had puked in my closet at 2:30am. When I called my mother to discuss our favorite topic - Charlie's late night fluid emission trips - I was actually LMAO. I put her on speakerphone so that my friend could be privy to the details and the full report was that at 11 he got up to pee. At 2:30 he puked in my closet. At 4 he shat. I might have even missed something...regardless, you get the picture. Fun night for mom.

I relayed this story to one of my best friends in Chicago and the phrase that popped into my head was "dog toilet". My room at home has been converted into a dog toilet. When I am at home visiting, I upset the delicate balance of my dog's bowels by confining his trips to a much smaller area. Does anyone wonder why I would perhaps think twice about living at home? Imagine bringing a man home...please be careful not to trod on my dog's excrement. Now let's try and be quiet while we have adult time because my mother is in a room only 10 feet away. The stuff of nightmares. I have had the pleasure of having 2 boyfriends stay at my mom's house (luckily, not at the same time) and from what I can remember, they both took it like champs (I think they largely just ignored it). That's how you know they're good guys, right? Right.

P.S. (5/28/12): My poor mother was appalled to see how I described her home. It is otherwise a lovely and jolly place.  I love her dearly but the dogs run the show! :-)

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