It rained hard over night on Wednesday. On Thursday morning, Daisy was on strike and refused to go outside in the damp cold to do her morning business. She climbed up on to the couch, seemingly determined to "hold it." I left the living room to pour another cup of coffee. A few minutes later, Bob ran into the kitchen and informed me that there was a "house poo" and that it was in the living room.
I returned to find Daisy back on the couch, a doggy deuce on the floor near the fireplace. I grabbed some tissues and picked up the prize. As I walked, my left foot caught a rope dog toy and I slid sideways, coming down hard on my knee and my hip. Poo went flying. I rolled over on to my back. Something caught my eye. Bob ran to my side.
"Mom! Are you okay?"
"I'm not sure."
"That poo is really close to your face right now."
"You should get up instead of just laying there."
"Have you ever had dog poo that close to your head before, Mom?"
"I bet it's super gross."
"You would win that bet, Bob."
I used to like rain. I still like my dog, mostly.