After a week of lost income and wallowing in the misery of accepting that being a freelancer means that a lot of stuff ends up being done for 'free', I emerged from it feeling tired but defiant, ready to fight on; to keep slogging away with the writing and do whatever I can to avoid having provide sexual favours in bus shelters for pocket money.
Besides, my new idol Mrs A Gooch wouldn't have just sat about moaning, would she? With that in mind, I stepped outside with a cup of coffee, noticing the first blooms of spring appearing on the Manchurian Pear Trees.
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Dunno why they're called 'pear' trees seeing as they don't produce any - clearly the Manchurians were short sighted or disliked fruit - but after a long dreary winter and a bit of self-pitying navel gazing, the tiny flowers seemed like a sign.
A good sign, I decided, and dashed inside to grab the camera.
After spending a few minutes taking some well-considered arty farty shots from different angles, I looked down, sniffed suspiciously and realised I'd trodden in a freshly-laid, particularly fragrant and sloppy dog turd.
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Frack - in my artistic endeavours, I'd not only got shit wedged in one shoe but both of them - a hellish stinking orange paste now embedded into every crevice and groove of the intricately patterned rubber soles.
Blossoms now forgotten, I treated Smoker Man on Second Floor Balcony Next Door to my angry Mexican Hat Dance minus the sombrero - frantically wiping each foot on the grass, swearing loudly to myself whilst also hoppity hopping around the other tussocks hiding old dog jobbies in order to avoid polluting my shoes again.
Sod this for a joke - I was going to get on that treadmill and go running and stop wasting my time----
------No I bloody well wasn't - imagine how the crap would get stuck on the conveyer belt, slowly covering it all with the dreaded e.Coli and the unbearable stench of Milly's matured mastications that would waft around the tiny toolshed, accentuated even further by the increasing heat of the machine and drops of sweat from my protesting body as I gasped for more air and sucked in her gaseous butt nugget soup instead.....
Well ram my face into a mobile home and call me Britney's drug dealer. Out came the gloves, detergent, boiling hot water, satay sticks and wet wipes as I cleaned both shoes. It took over half an hour and Milly sensed my frustration and busied herself elsewhere (not a mean feat considering our entire back yard is the size of a picnic blanket).
Much later, I'd completed the run and staggered inside for a big glass of water before seeing her sitting outside, pleading to be forgiven:
She was let in and kissed before I'd even disposed of the rubber gloves.
11 comments:
I see from this photograph, Kath, that your dog, Milly likes to chew the stuffing out of her bedding as does our dog, Ralph. They also both have a habit of depositing turds where you least expect them.
The turd situation is one of the reasons my husband resisted having a dog for years and and years, until one of our middle daughters protested, and used some of her stimulus package money to buy one.
Loving and loyal but ever productive of turds. As you suggest, what can you do but forgive and forget until next time.
Great post, Kath, as ever. You write so eloquently, wittily, colourfully, wonderfully. Pardon the wet adverbs. I love to read your writing.
It started off so well, your post, from the depths of winter to happy, happy spring then...
I have to do the turd inspection each morning before I let master x on the loose. He is usually a great helper and points out the piles on the pavers and tells me where the shovel is. Today was a laborious task as there were several puddles of diarrhoea from our ancient pup. And of course, I missed one. Luckily I scooped off master x's baby crocs and tracky pants and just threw them in the washing machine. It was the trail left from front door to rear door that was more of a challenge. Thank goodness for floorboards. Pity for the gaping cracks in the old version which af course are perfect niches for dog poop!
If I was ever inclined to give out sexual favours for money, I could never do it in a bus shelter. Too much bus and not enough shelter.
The Manchurian pear is an ornamental (so sterile)tree, it does produce fruit, but very small round berry types that the birds love. It's the very same tree I have in my front lawn, speedily growing big enough to shade my lounge window. It's completely covered in blossoms now, looking lovely, but not smelling so nice. Thankfully the smell doesn't last long and once the blossoms are gone, the glossy green leaves take over.
I used to keep a bottle of cheap detergent and an old scrubbing brush outside for the tread scrubbing chore, then hang the shoes on the line by the laces.
My dogs shit in the passage. The trouble is I never catch them doing it, they're modest, terribly discreet. They piss on the furniture too, rusting the base of a floor lamp, little buggars.
Well I've given up, can't stop them, it's just lucky I don't have many visitors, except weirdos who think it's funny. I don't think it's funny, it's a bloody nuisance, but what can you do when someone else is laughing, you'll have a laugh too.
you miss out the part that the camera died as well....
Why can't dogs be toilet trained like cats? My mum's 6 cats actually use the toilet bowl! We would utter "sorry" and retreat hurriedly/embarrassingly whenever we intruded upon a poor cat sitting on the toilet bowl. It can flush the toilet but can't lock the door!
No one in our family actually trained them! The mummy cat (which was a stray) trained her kittens.
Yeah she has been giving her bed a bit of a chew, Elisabeth, but just lately. I think once something's shown a bit of a rip or wear-and-tear she sees it as her right to get stuck into it, so very soon she's going to drop right through and land on the cment!
.....as for turds, I've always said that Dr Who's Tardis was modelled on the dog - much bigger on the inside.
Vanessa - yes, the turd inspection. It's done after school at house whenever Sapphire has a friend over. As for your floorboards, repeat after me as many times as needed: "That's not poo in there, it's putty."
RH, just as long as you don't end up wearing a pine tree car air freshener around your neck - or have them festooned all over the house, ala Kevin Spacey in 7even....
drb I wish we could train the dog to use the toilet - they're more likely to see it as a public drinking fountain than a place for their butt nuggets unfortunately.
I stood on a fresh one at the farmer's market last weekend, and then spent ages picking it out of the tread of my hiking boot. Gah. Flat shoes from now on...
Shit happens?
Oh, yes, getting that lovely stuff out of running-shoe treads is the WORST.
When we used a different brand of litter, one of our cats started depositing little loads - right next to the box. Like an editorial. Have not stepped in it only because (a) next to box and (b) lightish floor covering color.
P.S. We switched back to madame's favorite litter plenty quick ;)
In mid winter I slept in the same clothes for ten days without ever getting undressed and was going out mixing with the general public, totally unremarked upon. Body odour is a MYTH. It takes over everything. Spend your days worrying about it and you'll never do anything else. I live with dogs, do dogs spray deodorant on themselves and mince around the bloody streets? No, nor do I.
A shampooed poodle with a pink ribbon around its neck is not a dog.
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