Boys R Dumb

Well it has finally happened, I have joined my fellow bloggers...I am so weak. Hey I suppose that even I would benefit from more therapy so here I am.

It is actually my husband that has driven me to this place.
My dear hubby and I have been together for almost 10 years now, going on 4 years of marriage. He is a wonderful man and a quality husband, but as for is common sense...Not so much.


We have a chocolate Lab named Dancer and she is our current substitution for children. She is crated while we are away from the house during the day. Mainly due to the fact that we have her as a foster dog in our home from the CNIB (she's a breading dog) and they have crated her for the first year of her life.


My story begins here;

I arrived home this evening after a painful day of work to find my beloved upstairs on his hands and knees in our bedroom, ass facing out the door with a hint of butt crack to make the greeting extra special. He is sucking up was appears to be dog pooh with the little green Bissell carpet cleaner. The whole room smells of ass and there is no sign of the dog.
I'll bite.
(me) "Hey babe, what's ahhhh, going on here"?
(mark) "The dog shit".

And there you have it... The dog shit.

And indeed she did. Upon closer inspection I concluded that not only had the dog shit, but what we have here is an anal explosion of the fiercest kind. Clearly something did not agree with this dog and although not entirely the dogs fault, do you have any idea what happens when a dogs ass erupts in crate...Nothing good my friend, nothing good.

It is like a crime scene, there's Hershey squirts on the walls, on my beige carpet, all over, up and behind the dresser and on every back inch of the metal crate. What the hell did this dog eat...Cook your food man!
As I watch my husband force pieces of turd up a Bissell, it becomes clear to me that at some point this is going to be my problem. Of sure he seems to have things under control and at least he made the effort to clean this up but I will remain leary of my involvement.

I decided at this point to leave the bedroom and locate the dog who I still had not seen since I got home. I went to the back door and there she is happy to see me and covered in shit. It was like she was going into battle or something, with streaks of pooh across her head and camouflaging patterns shit down her back.

I have no idea what the hell went on here while I was at work, but serious...I threw up a little bit in my mouth. I am sure, walking in on that situation was shocking, but what dick tracks a dog covered in crap all the way down my beige carpeted stairs across my hardwood floors and out side. Hello... The bath tub is 2 feet away and trust me the shit isn't going to just disappear.

Now I have the 60 pound turd with hair stuck to it, jumping all over me in great excitement. I make Mark come and get her and bath her immediately!

Upon re-entering my bedroom, which still smells like a fart bomb... I discover that my husband has apparently completed the cleaning of poop and has left me the task of vacuuming up the remaining dog hair and placing everything back to normal.

Job done, the bedroom is shit free, the smell of ass is dissipating and we retire to the TV for a little R&R.

That bring my to the trigger for this log.

We went up stairs together just a half hour ago or so. Me on my way to play a little SIMS and Mark on his way to get ready for Ball. (That's right another ball season is upon us, but that's another blog).

I am just ready to settle down for the night, but decide to have a quick pee before doing so.

I go to the bathroom turn on the lights and are you freaking kidding me! There is not one square inch of surface area that is not covered in dog hair and I mean tons of it. I am freaking out and he is killing himself laughing. The shower curtain us hanging out of the tub, the bathmat is soaking wet and looks like a skinned dog and the floor is covered in a blanket of fur. I step in for a closer look still cursing that man I married and there it is, a partially drained tub with a 3 pound wad of dog hair stuck in the drain, that could have been mistaken for Chewbacka, son of a bitch. He bravely comes into the washroom kisses me quick and running out says, "Oh yeah and you need to empty the Bissell...it's full of shit, have a good night".

I felt at that moment compelled to write this down for all to read. I have officially joined the blog culture.
amen