That tag line is sung to the tune of The Sound of Music’s “My Favorite Things.” You’re welcome!
Seriously. Not joking anymore. The dogs, they haz issues. I like to come home from work at lunchtime to take the lil boys on a short walk and let em do they bidness.
But. Unfortunately. However. I come home to Mac (who is secluded in our bedroom and is known to make pillow forts on our bed during the day) who has shat in the corner. Charlie is still a puppy and is thus crated in the master bath. He has had explosive shit, rolled in it, and has shaken it off – which sprays out the vents to all over the bathroom.
Cue me. It takes me approx 12 minutes to drive home so I have about a half hour to spare. It’s going to take me so much longer than that to even bring myself to realize I need to clean this [quite literal] shit up.
Brink of tears.
I begrudgingly get the cleaner, throw Charlie’s crate blankets in the wash, scrub up Mac’s carpet poop. Whilst I’m doing so, SOMEONE has vomited TWICE in the living room. I say this like I think one of them is gonna fess up via blog.
I cry.
I clean up vomit. I now reek of dog shit and vomit and sweat and need to go back to work. I lock up the dogs.
I have to work late to make up the extra half hour I took at lunch to clean up dog mess. I come home….there is more vomit. The Ster cleans it up, God bless ‘im.
Mac shits in a corner. Fuck my life.
The shitterz, they iz worth it? Mmmk.








