Well, I’ve just emerged from having my head stuck in the dryer, squatted cleaning dog poop out of it. Yes. Disgusting. A task I should have tackled last night, but just couldn’t wrap myself around, having done load after load after load of laundry all day long.
How did this happen you may ask? The head in the dryer. Well, while cooking dinner last night, the all important question arose? Where’s LUKE? This is always a question lurking with danger. Well, we found him. In the garage. With the dogs. One dog had apparently been immersed in the washer, and then tumbled in the dryer-both working full steam with loads full of clothes and now also, a dog. A wet, scared, and pooping dog. Poor Pi! Well, Arielle wisked both dogs away and soothed them, gave them baths in the tub (what an ingenious place to clean a dog!), and they were as good as new. Thankfully.
WARNING: Do not read the following while eating.
That is until this morning. When I myself emerged from the dryer, got both loads of clothes clean again, and heard from Luke. “Pi sick.” Sure enough he had thrown up. So I got that cleaned up. I suppose any poor dog whose been so traumatized the night before deserves to be sick as often as they need. But then poor Luke, seeing that, throws up himself. So, now my house isn’t clean-is that the world’s most impossible task or what?-but it is clean of poop and well, the aftermath. And that’s one small victory! And I’m so desperate for these little victories, I’ll take it.
