I swear my blog pretty much writes itself with the ridiculous things that continuously happen to me. And good old Goatdog is often at the center of the craziness that provides such good writing material. Remember last week when he charged right through the glass on the front door of our house? Well, the big furry bastard actually topped that little stunt over the weekend, believe it or not. Cause let me just tell ya that nothin’ clears a room quite like a steaming pile of dog shit.
The scene was set for Saturday night when we spontaneously decided to invite a few friends over to our house for holiday drinks and poker. Goatdog was summoned to his crate, so as not to disturb the festivities while we all mingled and jingled the evening away. At some point, however, my husband took it upon himself to release the barking beast from his quarters, and we suddenly found our conversations interrupted by a wild thing running in and out of the dining room table.
Halfway through the first round of poker, one of our guests casually made a comment about whether or not the dog was dropping ass bombs in his wake. At first, we kinda just laughed it off, but little by little, that very same stench slowly made its way to each person’s nostrils throughout the entire room. And I’m not quite sure whether it was all the Holy Berries I’d consumed or just the uncomfortableness of the whole situation, but I immediately started giggling uncontrollably. As I buried my nose in the tablecloth (cause the smell truly was HORRIFIC), I happened to notice that each person was actually bolting from the room altogether. And that’s when I finally put two and two together.
Right there on our cream-colored dining room rug was the biggest pile of shit I’ve ever seen in my life. Honest to God, it was like a Clydesdale horse had eaten refried beans for a week and took a Guiness Book of World Records-type dump in the center of our home. I kid you not, I’ve never seen anything like it. In fact, I’m pretty pissed off at myself for not taking pictures to record the enormity of it all. It was so huge that my husband actually had to get a GALLON-size Ziploc bag to scoop the damn thing up.
And even though it was pretty freaking cold out that night, we made the executive decision to open up all the windows to try and fumigate the place. It seemed like the only appropriate thing to do, given that our guests were all gagging and blue in the face. So I suppose the next time we have a holiday gathering, I’ll be handing out gas masks as party favors. Thanks, Goatdog, for yet another memorable evening. You sure know how to “pile” on the fun.