It had rained for days; at least six in a row. Things were soggy, on the verge of boggy and the pool nearly broke its banks. The outside dogs were inside not wanting to go outside. The inside cat was inside not venturing anywhere near the outside dogs.
Whilst harmonious is the wrong term to describe the household over the wet patch, a routine of sorts began to form. Morning: let dogs outside to do their business; empty the buckets catching the deluge in the outside sleeping area for the dogs; feed said dogs; dry dog bedding, if required; move the dog bedding (large, awkward and cumbersome) from either outside or the entrance hall into the family room; observe the dogs chasing the cat; watch the dogs sniff everything to locate the whereabouts of said cat; observe the dogs give up in frustration, do laps around their beds and fall into rapturous, blissful, snore-filled sleep; watch the cat sneak out from hiding, curl up on her blanket and thereafter spy on the dogs.
An hour later, repeat the morning routine except for moving the dog beds. And, hit repeat for the rest of the day interspersed with either dog demanding to be let out for reasons sent telepathically (followed by big brown eyes looking up as if to say ‘And you think you’re more intelligent.’). Why they could not synchronise their outings will remain a mystery.
The challenge was to accomplish anything else whilst the two canines were awake. Actually, the challenge was to accomplish anything whilst they were awake or asleep. These two suffer from chronic FOMO; walk past them when they are obviously enjoying the Land of Nod and their eyes fly open, their heads go up and they are fully awake and alert for the next adventure. These guys are twelve year old golden retrievers; veritable puppies.
‘Oh, she is going to hang washing on the line. Let’s go!’ and out we all go to the undercover clothes line, where they lick bird droppings off the decking boards – cannot miss out on that. ‘Oh, she is vacuuming the floor. We’ll help by chasing the cat around so she can suck up even more fur.’ Then there’s ‘Oh, she is going to do some exercise. Let’s help her by sitting on her lap / laying by her side / rolling on our backs / taking up the area she just cleared to do Pilates / all of the above. She is such a silly woman. She can get all the exercise she needs by patting us!’ Anthropomorphising? Just a little.
Needless-to-say, when the rain stopped and the sun came out, the opportunity was seized. With gumboots on feet and shovel in hand, it was time to walk through the mine fields and clean up the dog pooh.
The area the dogs are usually contained in, when outside, is located around the swimming pool; with a large, tiled area covered by clear, plastic roofing (which leaks more than a colander) and enough grass to comfortably allow the two dogs space to poop for a week – if the pooh is not cleaned up after a week, the dogs run out of room to poop and deposits will appear in unexpected places … We clean up every week.
It usually takes about 15 to 20 minutes to clean up the dog pooh … today, it took over an hour. One did not allow for the change in molecular structure that constant rain can elicit on a turd. Mushy … Squishy … Sticky … Stinky … It was everywhere. Trying to get the shovel underneath a piece was hard enough but then lifting it up without it breaking up or squelching all over the grass and blade – bleh. And there absolutely was a gag a minute.
After persevering for 61 minutes and not even attempting to pick up the turds resembling chocolate lava cake, the hose soon annihilated the cakes left in the rain. Shovel cleaned, gumboots washed, back inside for some peace and quiet.
It starts to rain again. Heavily. Dogs are let inside, again. Dog beds are brought inside, again. Dogs chase the cat, again. Dogs cannot find the cat, again. Dogs settle into their beds and feign sleep, again. A good opportunity to get some ironing done … Hmmm …
The cat’s litter tray is barricaded in a corner, behind a foot-stool, an ironing board and a small table as the dogs have a tendency to eat the pooh of other animals: rabbits, sheep, horse … oh yeah, these guys are disgusting!
The iron is turned on, the ironing board is moved to allow room to walk behind it, the television is turned on and some coat hangers are required from the wardrobe in the bedroom.
Seconds … I was gone for seconds! What do you do when you find your female dog standing behind the ironing board, head in the cat’s litter tray, chomping down on cat pooh? Gag, of course. Which scares the dog. Pooh sprays across the floor. More gagging. Dog steps in pooh sprayed on floor. More gagging. Dog drops more pooh from it’s mouth. Queue more gagging. And, supersize that order of gagging, because who has to clean up the mess?
I kid you not. That was my day yesterday. It was a shit day though quite a bit was achieved … the dogs’ teeth were cleaned, their mouths disinfected, their bodies disinfected, I was disinfected, the floor was disinfected, the ironing was eventually completed, the cat was disgusted and looked at me with big green eyes as if to say ‘And you thought you were the intelligent one?’