Irony is Poo Colored

We went away for the night, Sam and I. The husband rocks, knowing that I need time away from the family I love so much in order to keep my sanity. The kids are responsible, and Becky is like a mini-mom in my absence, but there's a lot of extra responsibility with the extra dogs. Since she was in charge of the kids, cooking, cleaning, and dog care, I took pity on her and took the french bulldogs with us. Those are the three dogs that aren't housebroken. The last thing she needed on top of the other responsibilities is to have to clean messes off the floor every fifteen minutes. I mean, Becky doesn't even like dogs that much, so to have to deal with their mess is way less fun for her than for a dog lover.

We only went away one night, and yet there were several trips back and forth to the car, packing. Two dog crates, a bag of newspapers to line them with, dog bowls and food, a bag of groceries to feed us for a day at the cabin, a change of clothes and toiletries for each of us, my computer and bag with my work assignment gear (yes, I had to take work along with), and my camera of course. (Never leave home without it!) I have never thought of myself as high maintenance, but egads the things we packed for just 24 hours away. I was a little disturbed.

So we're at the cabin with our three dogs, taking them outside roughly every 20 minutes to avoid messes indoors, and I get a phone call from Becky. (It's shocking that it gets through, really. There is no telephone there, no internet, and cell service is sketchy at best. If you stand on the picnic table in the front yard, service is stellar. Inside the cabin, you've gotta be within 18" of the front door. And even then I lost the call after a few minutes.)

Becky called to tell me that mama dog had an accident in her crate. It was not pretty. (Are accidents ever?) The puppies were covered in the aforementioned accident, and of course the crate was painted in the stuff. What was she to do with the puppies? Poor Becky. I took the frenchies with so that she didn't have to deal with dog messes, and she ended up having to scrub poo from a crate, wash 7 puppies and mama dog, and scrub the floor since mama tracked it up quite liberally.

The irony is not lost on me, and I can't laugh at her calamity. I've done that very clean-up before, and it's not pleasant. At all.  That poor, poor girl. I owe her a day at a spa for what she did for me today.  And she doesn't even like dogs.