So let’s start this thing off with a bang, shall we?
The other night, hubby and I were getting our “snug on” (trademarked term) on the couch watching American Idol, waiting for The Office to come on. The puppy, Pinky, was lying at our feet sleeping sweetly. Filling a little chilly, I pulled a blanket over us and got a terrible whiff of doggie diarrhea. I mean it was hot, strong and dank, like sewage in the middle of summer. I started screaming and laughing and pointing at Pinky.
My hubby and I had covered our noses and began fanning the air. But “the stank” didn’t move, it lingered like a cloud of toxic waste: thick and slightly malevolent. I began checking all through the blanket to see if an actual turd would fall out of my covers. I mean, how it could smell this bad with out shit being among us?
We finally realized it was just a hot biscuit Stinky Pinky floated at us. We went back to tv watching.
Pretty soon, the smell hits us again. Like a brick. REALLY, Pinky!?!?! I start dragging her to the door but she didn’t want to go. The smell was like a fog encompassing us. My husband, knowing how susceptible I am to gagging, begins to make retching noises. At first I laugh at him and then I begin gagging as I push and drag the offender to the door deeply inhaling her stench. Finally I shove her hot little butt out the door and am walking back to the couch when I step in something wet. My legs reflexively collapse beneath me as I scream and laugh and gag in fear. I just know I have “found” the proverbial pile and can only lie on my back with my legs pointed at the ceiling. I am laughing so hard, I can’t breathe, which is a blessing.
Finally, I look at my foot and see no evidence of diarrhea. I get up and go to bed.