My crazy doggins...

T.M.I.

I don't know what's up with my dog, Bailey.

When he was a puppy, it maybe happened twice, he pooped in his crate, ate it to hide it, and then managed to throw up liquid poop and step in/lie in it.

For some reason, since we moved into our house in December, he's managed to do this five or six times now. I don't know what's going on! What's even weirder, is that it never happens when I'm home or when G's home.

G's sister, K, always ends up cleaning it up because it always happens after she leaves the house and comes home.

So that leads me to the conclusion that she's not making sure he shits when she lets him out?

I don't know what else to think.

The other day E's cousin S picked him up to head to Ft. Collins, so E left his truck at the house. G and I left for work in the morning. K decided to assume that E was at the house since his truck was there and left all three dogs out (they're all normally crated while no one is home). I had a dentist appointment so I ran home to brush my teeth after work. Guess what I came home to? A pile of shit on the carpet in the living room and E in the shower... At first I thought, Bailey must have just gone while E was in the bathroom. Nope. I pick it up and it's cold. Nice, E... very nice. Leave shit on the floor. I swear you couldn't miss the thing!

So I don't get it... Bailey craps in his crate every time K crates them when she leaves the house. We've told her to take the time, to watch them (also because he dumb dog digs in our fricken' grass!) to make sure Bailey actually poops. He's not a speed-crapper like Hurley. He's a hound and he sniffs, and sniffs, and sniffs... and you have to sit there and tell him to "GO POTTY!" It's so annoying, but totally necessary.

I'm tired of the basement smelling like crap and having to give Bailey a bath once a week.

Gah!

I just wrote a whole post about dog poop. Joy.

Day 1585 of our relationship, I'm turning 27.

27, eek. At 10pm tonight it will be official, as my mom reminded me last night. My poor little mother giving birth to a 9.5 lb. baby, 27 years ago. I can't wait to see what I will birth with these hips and with G being 6'6".

I'm now three years off from 30.

If I had my way, I would forever be 22 or 23. Those have been my favorite years so far.

I do not like getting older. I just don't.

It's hard to believe that I was 22 when I met G. He had just turned 25. When I turned 23, he lovingly told me that 23 was the "trade-in age." What a butt munch! I asked him what the trade-in age for guys was because if he recalled, he was three years my senior!

Well, now, I'm way past that trade-in age.

G is super, super sick. I kissed him goodbye this morning while he was lying in bed with no covers on. He was burning up! I hope he doesn't feel obligated to try to feel better on behalf of my birthday. I can tell he's miserable and I feel bad that I'm not there to take care of him.

E will be here tomorrow afternoon.

Yesterday when I got home from work I got a lovely surprise. I got to clean up doggie doo out of Bailey's crate. For some reason, the last two days in a row, he's pooped in his crate, eaten it, and thrown it up, e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e! So, lucky me, I got to wash a poop covered dog and his crate and the basement floor. Thank goodness it's still unfinished. Let me tell you though. Trying to get the shit smell out of your house is not an easy, or comfortable task when it's 20 degrees outside. I made G freeze while I ran the house fan to pull that poo smell out. I have a bionic sniffer and everything that has foul smell, no matter how little, will drive me crazy. I still think the house smells like crap, but G and his sister disagree.