Sorry for the radio silence, everyone. I had no internet! But...
Guys, guys, GUYS. (Well, maybe that should read everyone, everyone, EVERYONE? I digress.)
Having pets is not for the faint of heart.
You always run the risk of them getting sick or hurt. Yes, I’m being extreme. On the lighter side, there’s always the chance that they will eat your shoes, clothes, furniture, and body parts, among other things. But one thing is certain. One thing is unavoidable.
At any given point in your life as a pet, particularly dog, owner, there will be poop.
I do wish that it is merely “oh, I am taking my dog on a walk, which means they will relieve themselves” type of poop. Not the type of poop Damián and I have experienced last night. Dear Freddie Mercury, the poop we have experienced last night.
Don’t worry. There are no pictures. Of the poop, at least.
Arriving home from work, I was ready for another day of packing, cleaning, and organizing. I was also ready to see my dear Genghis’ face to cheer me up after a stint in traffic, when I saw some shapes on the floor behind him. “Oh, no,” I thought. “He tore something up again,” I continued, out loud.
Well, he didn’t tear anything up. Except our nostrils.
When I opened the door, that stench came at me with the force of a 9.2 megaton bomb. Deities were invoked as I turned on the light, and saw that the shapes I made out in the dark were, in fact, poop. Lots of it. I tiptoed around as I tried to check Genghis for poop. But he’s too fancy for that. He was actually all, “Please, mummy, do take me away from the poop. It stinks!”
So I put him in the terrace to commence Operation Clean-Up (OCU). But then I realized that I couldn’t commence OCU because I had nothing to start it with. You see, we cleaned our apartment so we could leave most of our cleaning supplies at the new place so we can enable it for our impending arrival. We honestly didn’t account for a doggy doodoo episode. I called Damián and explained the scenario. The good man stopped at the pharmacy and picked up our weapons. Then he came home and armed himself.
We looked like this.
Lessons here? Don’t ever run out of cleaning products. Ever. Don’t underestimate your tiny bundle of furry love. They’ve got some terrifying things up their sleeves for you when you least expect them. And never, ever underestimate the smell of poo. I thought I could handle it, but I ran away gagging upon commencing clean-up.
We are just so thankful we don’t have carpets. Nor will we ever, after this episode. Word.
PS. The mop broke at one point. :(