Ah, life with Gus
I haven't had the opportunity to do any wee-hours-of-the-night blogging since I was pregnant with Isabelle. How quickly I forget all the trials of pregnancy. Anyhow, I haven't found myself wide awake with a queasy stomach in quite some time, until now, thanks to our dog, or perhaps my keen sense of smell.
They say that the "smell" part of our brain (nurse Kaarene would probably have a fancier word for this) is actually linked to our memory bank. That is why when we smell something, it can instantly take us back to another time and place. Perhaps that is why, while still sleeping, the faint aroma of stinking dog poop penetrated my nostrils and caused me to awaken with a jolt. That familiar smell was associated with an unpleasant memory of scrubbing up, not one, but seven piles of dog poop from the carpet.
Once confronted with the memory, I grew afraid. I shook Titus awake. Should I go investigate? Did it smell like dog poop? He bolstered my courage by promising to come help if there was poop. There was.
In Augustus' defense, I am a bad dog owner. We had fried chicken for dinner and I let him lick out 2 pots of gravy. I also forgot to take out the garbage before bed, so who knows what other tasty morsels he found in there. The point is, he had people food, gravy of all things. My bad.
Anyhow, I found a giant pile of almost steaming poo in the kitchen (on the linoleum this time - Yay Gus!) But then there was another medium sized pile on the carpet.... and then anther. And then while Titus was taking the poo out to the garbage, his bare feet discovered yet one more smallish pile, which unfortunately clung to the hem of his pajama pants. Poor dear soul. I couldn't help but laugh; the same grateful laugh you utter when someone else falls down the icy sidewalk instead of you.
Titus did bring Gus in to show him the error of his way. He had intended to beat him, but Gus was so full of fear as he was knowingly dragged toward the piles of poo, that we figured that he realized the nature of his guilt. Titus gave him a little tap on the nose, that was more of love pat really, but seemed to do the trick. Gus slunk back outside, where he shall remain for the rest of the night.
It's occasions like these that make me glad I had a bottle of Talking Rain on hand to sooth my upset stomach. A fried chicken dinner followed by such a close encounter with dog feces does make one grateful for a touch of something bubbly. It also makes me grateful for blogging, for how else can you find a way to whine to all of your friends in the middle of the night? Well, I think I will head off to bed now trying to ignore that unique potpourri of dog poo, fried chicken, and cleaner that lingers in the air. This is one smell I would not mind having erased from my memory banks.
They say that the "smell" part of our brain (nurse Kaarene would probably have a fancier word for this) is actually linked to our memory bank. That is why when we smell something, it can instantly take us back to another time and place. Perhaps that is why, while still sleeping, the faint aroma of stinking dog poop penetrated my nostrils and caused me to awaken with a jolt. That familiar smell was associated with an unpleasant memory of scrubbing up, not one, but seven piles of dog poop from the carpet.
Once confronted with the memory, I grew afraid. I shook Titus awake. Should I go investigate? Did it smell like dog poop? He bolstered my courage by promising to come help if there was poop. There was.
In Augustus' defense, I am a bad dog owner. We had fried chicken for dinner and I let him lick out 2 pots of gravy. I also forgot to take out the garbage before bed, so who knows what other tasty morsels he found in there. The point is, he had people food, gravy of all things. My bad.
Anyhow, I found a giant pile of almost steaming poo in the kitchen (on the linoleum this time - Yay Gus!) But then there was another medium sized pile on the carpet.... and then anther. And then while Titus was taking the poo out to the garbage, his bare feet discovered yet one more smallish pile, which unfortunately clung to the hem of his pajama pants. Poor dear soul. I couldn't help but laugh; the same grateful laugh you utter when someone else falls down the icy sidewalk instead of you.
Titus did bring Gus in to show him the error of his way. He had intended to beat him, but Gus was so full of fear as he was knowingly dragged toward the piles of poo, that we figured that he realized the nature of his guilt. Titus gave him a little tap on the nose, that was more of love pat really, but seemed to do the trick. Gus slunk back outside, where he shall remain for the rest of the night.
It's occasions like these that make me glad I had a bottle of Talking Rain on hand to sooth my upset stomach. A fried chicken dinner followed by such a close encounter with dog feces does make one grateful for a touch of something bubbly. It also makes me grateful for blogging, for how else can you find a way to whine to all of your friends in the middle of the night? Well, I think I will head off to bed now trying to ignore that unique potpourri of dog poo, fried chicken, and cleaner that lingers in the air. This is one smell I would not mind having erased from my memory banks.
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