Sore Throat and a Pile of Dog Poop

There is a distinct correlation between my dog's fur, the seasons about to change and my allergies. When this perfect storm occurs, you can usually find me hiding in my bedroom, the only safe haven I have because it's the one room we don't allow the dogs to play in and nature can't penetrate my basement apartment windows.

It also takes it toll on the puppies moral. Instead of the usual amount of attention they get from me during the day: an extra walk here and there or more time to throw a toy, they are left to each others company. From my bedroom I can hear them running in circles around the coffee table and Bree's less then threatening bark which can only mean Maxx has stolen his favorite toy or chew thing. Once I walk out of my room however to see what is going on I know Maxx will immediately drop whatever he has stolen and give me an innocent look that I am all to familiar with having a younger sister of my own and taken her toys from her many times growing up.

If I don't go out to check on them I know what the consequences will be: Brees retaliating with a stink bomb aka pooping on his favorite spot on the carpet. It is the same area each time and it is strategically placed right where the carpet starts so you can't miss his small present.

With my allergies flaring up and a sore throat setting in, I retired to my bedroom for most of the afternoon with anything hot I could nuke up in the microwave to eat and drink and sooth of the pain of not being able to take any medicine while I'm pregnant. I hear the inevitable commotion outside of the dogs chasing each other, Maxx taking Brees' chew thing and then I hear something slightly different: Brees realizing that he is bigger, stronger and fatter than Maxx and instead of letting him have the toy, he's taking it back. Ferocity ensues and then stillness.

I jump from my bed and swing open the door, partially to make sure one of them hadn't killed the other and partially because I pictured Maxx in a triumphant little dog defeats big dog pose sitting on Brees holding him down to teach him who's boss. It is then I realize the joke is on me.

In the mist of the chaos each dog has taken the time to poop a little right in front of my door directly under where my ironically brown slipper sits. The dogs are laying calmly near the doorway to the living room on their bed staring at me with wide eyes as if they knew I would rush out of my bedroom at any second and be privy to what they had left me.

As I stare at them, Brees slowly gets to his feet and shakes, fur flying everywhere. I sneeze and at the same time get a whiff of the damage through my pregnancy heightened sense of smell.

The perfect shit storm.