Cute Pug, But . . .

Yesterday, I got up with Ada at 5:30, then put her back to bed and lay back down myself a little after 6:00. Around 7:00, I was awoken by Ellie, who's touching my face and smelling dreadful.

"She must have spit up," said Paul. (Ellie still spits up occasionally; it's part of the low-tone that so often accompanies Down syndrome.)

"No, I think it's worse than that," I said.

I was torn between trying to wake up - too many late nights this week - and trying to hide my head from what I could already tell was going to be a challenging start to the morning.

Paul gave me status updates as he checked things out. "Ellie's pants look fine" (Good! No blow-out! Maybe we caught it in time . . . ) "But somebody pooped in Ellie's room!" (Huh? She managed to pull her pants down, then back up, but she can't . . . )

Here's where it starts to get really fun; put down the pumpkin loaf and prepare yourself.

Lizzi the pug, who hasn't had an "accident" in months and has never ever had one anywhere other than the front room - her "accidents" are very behavioral - has defecated in Ellie's room. Which we did not straighten before bed last night, so there are toys, dolls, and books scattered all over the floor. And Ellie has been awake, playing in her room for a while.

She voluntarily went in there and shut the door, a rare occurrence in the early mornings, so we should have been suspicious, but we were just so excited to have a little extra sleep.

Have I mentioned this interesting little quirk Lizzi came to us with (6 years ago, from pug rescue)? When she goes "potty," she spins in a circle several times first. It made her really easy to finish housebreaking, but when she can't wait to poop, it can make for some disastrous results.

So the morning started with some excitement. Paul took care of poop removal, cleaning carpets, and stripping the beds. I went through dozens of Clorox wipes, thoroughly cleaning everything that can't be dropped into the washing machine. But many things (even some dolls and stuffed animals) will be stuffed into the washing machine.

Granted, it wasn't actually touching any of Ellie's stuff. But, I figure, she might have touched it, then played with her toys. Poop is sort of fascinating, after all, when not confined to the toilet where it belongs. Especially when it's such an unexpected find!

Paul thinks I'm a little "obsessive" about the cleaning; he thinks that picking up the actual poop is enough, he just humored me by steaming the carpet and changing the sheets (and quilt, and comforter).

And then we all got bathed and changed. And then we started our day, somewhat later than usual but still to preschool on time.

I believe that dogs are family members. You can't just get rid of them when they piss you off. I'm going to need to keep reminding myself of that so that I don't commit canicide.