Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Because nothing says happy birthday like a great dane with explosive diarrhea

Today is Mr. Dog's birthday. Yep, on Veteran's Day. Kids get the day off school, no mail, banks are closed. All this for Mr. Dog's birthday. Or Veteran's day, take your pick.
So what does a good wife do for her husband's birthday? Well, I had big plans. Because Big Dog's school was closed, I decided to work from home. I'd planned on slipping out at lunch and picking up cake makin's and the necessary ingredients for a batch of orange ginger soy ribs. But that didn't happen. Instead, I was swamped. Yesterday evening I'd returned from a particularly hellish business trip and this morning, I made the spur of the moment decision to keep Little Dog home since Big Dog was already going to be home. And thus I cut my lunch time productivity by about 2/3. Probably more. I did manage to get the boys to a book store to buy Mr. Dog a "football book" as Big Dog requested, but that was about it. No food, thus no cake.
After my last meeting of the day I tried to mobilize to get something I could throw together for dinner, but the boys were lagging. I called Mr. Dog and he suggested we just order in. See, this is one of the many reasons why I love him. So I settled in and was finishing up the last of my work email. Something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye and I glanced up just in time to see Dashiell look surprised and a stream of diarrhea spew out of his butt.
I rushed him out of the house so he could finish his display someplace uncarpeted. I ran back into the house and gathered up the necessary cleaning supplies, then raced back outside to make sure Nikita, our escape artist, was not pulling a Houdini from the yard. I called to her and she looked at me, but didn't come back. So I stepped forward to retrieve her. In my haste I failed to look where I stepped and I skidded in a fresh pile of Dashiell diarrhea. And when I looked up Mr Dog was just parking his car.
So instead of a beautiful cake and a delicious heap of ribs, his birthday was ushered in with a frantic wife and a steaming pile of shit. Happy Birthday, Dave. Happy birthday.

1 comment:

geekymummy said...

I"m sorry, I am laughing so hard I almost sprayed my screen with wine, great visual!

There is nothing like the expression on a dogs face when his bottom explodes on him.

And after cleaning up dogbumsplosions, anything child related, however gross, is nothing in comparison.

I hope the rest of your evening improved, and that the great beast is feeling better.

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