Hey, what’s that smell?
Okay, so yesterday was not exactly the best day for me. I had a rough day at work simply because everything I touched either blew up in my face, or I messed things up for other people. Really, I’m not exaggerating. Everyone that I came in contact with for the most part ended up having severe technical difficulties during the time of our interaction. Someone must have cursed me yesterday.
Anyway, I ended up leaving early since the weather was going to get pretty bad and I have a slightly neurotic dog during thunderstorms. So, I went home to take care of her and make sure she didn’t wet my carpet. Things went well, no puddles….yet.
Later that night, about 9 p.m., I was searching through my memory collection looking for some camp photos that I am planning on putting in a scrapbook. Well, I was in the closet when I caught a whiff of something. I wasn’t sure at first what it was since I was looking through some pretty old stuff and it kind of smelled funny anyway. Then I just had this feeling that I knew what it was. I had taken the baby gate to the guest room down so that the dogs wouldn’t stick their head over the gate and whine. Rosie has been known to stick her nose through one of the holes in the gate. I thought it would be easier to just let them in the room with me. Well, I came out of the closet and spotted it almost immediately. Guess I’m developing those mommy eyes, I’ve been told I am getting close to having a mommy voice when the pups get into trouble. So, I round the corner of the closet and come into the guest room and see not 1, not 2, but 4 puddles at the corner of the guest bed. At first, it did not register why there were so many puddles and why they were so small. And then it hit me… there were small puddles because it was dripping off of the quilt on the bed. Not only had the dog peed on the carpet, he had actually hiked his leg and peed all over the corner of the bed, soaking the quilt and bedskirt. I of course instantly knew who the only culprit could be. And there he was, about two feet away, laying on the floor looking up at me with the equivalent of a smile on the face of two-year old who has just done something wrong, and his tail was steadily wagging. I completely lost it! Of course, this obvious ploy for innocence was not working on me. I just looked at Dante for about 30 seconds, and then the words found me.
Now, during this entire ordeal, Jonathan is downstairs on the couch watching T.V. He has no idea what is going on, all he knows is that things were quite peaceful up until the moment he heard a string of explicatives interruped by “that dog”, “Dante”, “he’s just like a child”, and “are we sure we want kids?”. He yells upstairs to find out what is going on. I don’t really blame him, I wouldn’t have walked upstairs to me yelling and cussing without first assessing the situation and making sure the area was safe.
So now Jonathan has entered the picture and asked me what has happened. Of course, I don’t waste any time in telling him….a brief silence ensues….then, a burst of hysterical laughter that somehow continues for the next 15 minutes or so. He finally stops laughing long enough to walk up the stairs. There he finds me pointing at the corner of the bed and yelling in Dante’s general direction. And Dante just lays there quietly, wagging that stupid tail of his!!! So now, I have to strip the bed and wash the linens immediately. Otherwise things were going to get really smelly really quick. I send Jonathan to wash the linens, still laughing, while I continue to clean up what little bit managed to hit the floor. Then the nozzle on the cleaner quits working, which sends me into another fit, complete with a few more choice words.
And do you know what the worst part is? I can’t really be mad at the dog. Here are the reasons why:
1. I did not actually catch him in the act.
2. Too much time has passed for punishment to occur, he really wouldn’t understand what he was getting punished for.
3. He was just doing what comes naturally to a dog, marking his territory.
4. I was trying to work up a good mad so I wouldn’t die laughing…I mean the whole situation what absolutely hilarious.
So, the mess is cleaned up, Dante is probably forever traumatized by my irratic behaviour, Rosie is just there, the quilt and bedskirt are sitting in the dryer, Jonathan is waiting on me to finish this post so that he can post his version of the story, and I am still trying not to laugh about it…and failing miserably.
That is all.
Have a good day 
March 10th, 2006 at 10:09 am
I do not know what was funnier — that Dante had “marked” the bed or the face that Ashley was making while she was trying to work up her mad to keep from laughing as hard as I was. Ashley low-balled her estimates on how long I laughed — it was at least for a good solid half-hour and thinking about it still kicks me back off. I got mine in the end, though. I had to haul the urine-covered bedskirt and bedspread down to the washer and get them clean. It was so worth it, though. I probably lost five pounds just from the laughter.
March 14th, 2006 at 12:23 pm
That’s … awesome. I think I’d like to see you really mad sometime, Ashley, because … yeah. The concept of you being so mad that Jonathan yelled up before coming up … phew. I mean, he can even do the whole “hand on the top of your head while you flail away mercilessly” bit with you, so … :chuckle:
March 14th, 2006 at 3:28 pm
I’ve been told that when I get really mad, I slip into a very southern accent, which is totally not like me
I’m sure that I am quite hilarious when I get mad.
And yeah, Jonathan can do the whole “hand on the head” trick, but I have much better aim
All those years of softball are finally paying off 
(Not that I really throw things at Jonathan)
March 14th, 2006 at 4:06 pm
See, the fallacy of the “hand on the head” trick that night is that I was laughing too hard to possibly be able to pull it off.