Who Shat in My House

I had a mental breakdown this morning. It didn't require hospitalization, but, it's not over yet, it still might. During the post-breakdown cleanup, my creative juices began to flow....

My dog, he shat.
He shat in my room,
in the corner, and on a pillow,
and on a bedside table, he shat.
He lay in his shat, he walked in his shat,
he trailed his shat throughout the whole house, he shat.
This was no ordinary shat, it was loose shat,
the worst kind of shat, the metallic smelling shat.
I hate my dog, my dog that shat.

Here's a haiku on the topic:

in my room
a dog shats
scent of poo

or how about this one:

through the poo
a dog walks
messy trail is made

And the backstory is this. Someone gave me a big bag of dog food a few days ago. It's not my dogs' normal food, but they seemed to like it. They ate it for breakfast one morning. I leave for work. I then come home from work and discover that SOMEONE has broken into the pantry (by opening the door to it - what, did you grow an opposable thumb while I was gone?) and has helped themselves to a ginormous portion of the new bag of dog food. Apparently SOMEONE really, really liked it. I then take the dogs out - and boy do they have to poo. But, it's fine b/c it's outside. They poo. Later, I foolishly go to bed, not realizing what hell would be awaiting me in a few short hours. I wake up, it's 6am. At first consciousness, a smell hits my nostrils that I know well...that I distinctly remember and loathe - it's the metallic scent of diarrhea and it is close....very close. My heart starts to race, my blood begins to boil, I shout out in anger, 'DAMN IT, YESCA', for I know he is the culprit, we've been down this road before. Yesca, sleeping contentedly in the corner, is apparently annoyed by my early morning loudness, he opens one eye and looks at me. I turn on a light before actually getting up and that was my ONLY saving grace, b/c if I had taken even one step off the bed into the darkness in any direction, I would have had poo on my foot (similar to 'sh*t on your face', but it actually is poo on your foot).

The sh*tty (pun intended) Apocalypse Now scenario that surrounded my bed would have been enough to send the inexperienced poop handler into anaphylactic shock. My isle de bed was essentially floating on an ocean of liquid poo. It was everywhere...I could barely make out clear ground off in the distance. Yesca had diarrhea-ed in several strategic locations around the bed, and then he must have proceeded to walk through them REPEATEDLY, trailing the mess even further then it ran on it's own liquid accord. I'm a little frantic, this is not how anyone wants to start the day (unless you are in HELL, maybe). I'm trying to find a way to get off the bed and to the cleaning supplies (and SHOES - must get shoes) all the while trying not to retch or kill the dog (with my evil thoughts), who is lying just beyond the gulf de poo he created. He sees me being frantic and decides to *aid* me in my morning frenzy by getting up and walking towards me THROUGH the poo. ‘NO, STOP, STOOOOP, GO BACK’, I yell at him along with a slur of other early morning curses that probably awaken the neighbors, but he doesn’t understand the STOP command, why, b/c I’ve never felt the need to teach it to him. He’s walking towards me now in slow motion, I know he’s going to reach the bed and jump on it with poo on his paws. It’s not enough that there is poo all over the floor, but, heaven help me if the poo gets on the bed. (yep, that’s where I draw the line – that’s where I go from ‘can handle’ to ‘insane in the membrane’ – so, we can’t go there). I scream at him at the top of my lungs, ‘YESCA, SIT, LAY DOWN’ (these are commands he knows) – and he sits and then he lays down…...in his sea of poo. All I can do is let out a big *SIGH*, the stars might all be aligned against me this morning, but at least no poo is on the bed....for now.

In summary, I do eventually make it off the bed; I clean *most* of the mess, as much as I could before running out of paper towels, cleaner and even garbage bags (of course, it’s my lucky day); there was poo on my bedside table (R U KIDDING ME – WTF!); there was poo on a pillow (now called GARBAGE) that had fallen off the bed; I hose off my dog in the front yard at 6:30 a.m. - always fun; all dogs are given pepto bismol; I make it to work somewhat on time; I dread the return home this evening where I’m going to have to pick up where I left off, scrubbing dried poo prints from the floor. Gag reflex activates just thinking about it.

Here’s a final Haiku on the topic:

paw print
forged in poo
scrub, scrub, scrub

Yesca, enjoys eating dog food and shatting indoors.