Since I talked about the dogs every post this week, I should go ahead and round things out by telling you a bit more about the dogs.
Last night we were trying to watch 30 Rock, which is really the only show I look forward to at this point, other than the Simpsons, and in the first ten minutes, of course, we heard a strange noise and realized Cab was peeing on a rug/Monk’s favorite toy. I realized in horror that Cab hadn’t peed the last time we took the dogs out (an hour and a half earlier). He had just pooped. I also realized that him running around frantically panting was him trying to tell us I HAVE TO GO I HAVE TO GO I HAVE TO GO, as it was not his normal running around panting. It was more frantic and less dip-shitty, and I hadn’t noticed. The dogs NEVER EVER have accidents–I can count the number of accidents for both dogs combined on one hand, and they are ALWAYS humans’ fault. ANYWAY. Pee! On a cheap rug. I grabbed Cab, who was apologetic and upset, and we took him and Monk out again, just in case. Then we came back in. I got a trash bag and wrestled the pee rug and Monk’s toy (we’d been debating getting rid of that disgusting thing for a while, but still, sad!) into it. (The rug was a four dollar cheapie we keep at the bottom of the stairs for dirty dog feet.) (And urine, apparently.)
In the process, I successfully got pee ON MY HAND and ON MY TOE, and I had just showered. I sprayed the tile down with cleaner and partially mopped it up, letting the rest just sort of…sit and disinfect. I took out the pee trash, washed my hands and foot, came back downstairs, sat down on the couch. 30 Rock was halfway over.
This is the part where Monk ran over to the still-damp cleaner, and proceeded to LICK it. Panic ensued; Monk was unhappy, running around with his tail between his legs, coughing, gagging. Cab was getting in the way, Monk wouldn’t drink water, my husband and I were freaking out, etc. Jut read the back of the bottle while I got Monk to eat some ice cubes and finally got his mouth rinsed out. Monk still looked miserable and we were worried, so I called the vet, who told me to rinse Monk’s mouth with water, give him milk, and then call tomorrow if he seemed bad because of a chance of ulcers in the stomach lining. (If he had ingested enough–probably it just was burning his tongue.) So I poured him the rest of our milk, a big bowl, and he drank it all, then ate about twenty more ice cubes. His belly was swollen from the big bowl of milk, and he was still making horrible mouth noises, but his tail was back up.
I sat on the kitchen floor while he ate ice cubes and tried not to cry, because I felt like the worst pet owner ever. Not letting Cab pee, letting Monk lick a household cleaning product? That’s POISON.
I’m an ass.
Also: I think it’s time to switch to more gentle cleaning products. Last week I coughed an entire evening after cleaning the bathroom. I think it’s time.
Questions? What was the dumbest thing you did this week? (My answer is above.) How do you prefer to sit? What are you doing tonight?
I like to sit with one or both of my legs curled under me, or with one knee drawn up against my chest. Or with both. I also like to squat–basically anyway that SHOULD be uncomfortable is my preferred method of sitting. This causes me anguish at work, where it is not professional to sit anyway other than, you know, sitting up with your legs in normal positions. I really like having one leg curled under. If both feet are down, or my legs are crossed, that means my feet are probably twitching around. I think proximity to my torso also means my feet might feel warmer (I associate uncurled legs with cold feet), and I get all edgy and uncomfortable if I’m not twisted up in a stupid position.
Do you know what I want to do tonight? I want to drink a beer with my husband, watch a movie, and go to bed early. And I think that’s what I’ll do.
Go!
black sheeped
