Every morning, I take my horrible state-mandated ward Tessie the Dog outside for a constitutional. Most mornings, this is distasteful yet brief. Yesterday morning, I upheld my part of the bargain, but she did not. Not wanting to be late for work, I accepted my fate. I knew I would be mopping up pee when I got home.
Instead, I found the apocalypse.
Tessie the Dog is ill. Frighteningly ill. Eye-bleedingly ill. Face-meltingly ill. Tessie the Dog stood in her crate, amidst a sea of bile and other horrible manner of tummy rumblings and poopy. My plan had been to mop up, feed Tessie the Dog, and go get the kiddo from school. Instead, I tied Tessie the Dog outside, donned my haz-mat suit, and proceeded to clean up a crime scene. When things were sufficiently clean (meaning there was a path), I got the kid and launched her down the hallway with one arm, where gentle television could soothe her wounded eyes. I mopped. And mopped. And bleached things. And mopped. And threw away some adequate towels. And bleached.
I am home today with Tessie the Dog. Not out of any particular affection for her, but because I have no desire to ruin any more towels, my eyes, or my nose. Not to mention my shattered psyche. She seems to be feeling better (meaning most of her innards have remained innards), but this is pathetic. No, this is beyond pathetic.
