…I know, but life is BUSY and I have three kids and grown-up stuff to do.
And now a dog.
A small dog. We call him Ninja. Ninja the Ninja Dog.
He’s a year old, picked up from the pound this week. He’s great with my children, and marvelously nervously twitchy, and a genuinely dapper fellow.
Except for he doesn’t eliminate his bowels (that’s new cool-kid slang for “take a dump”) outside.
He hides in the basement, like a felon.
So currently, I kid you not:
I have the animal strapped literally to my body. His leash is tied to my belt. This is so that there is no possibility he can pull off a stealth ninja poo.
It’s been 5.5 hours since this animal last ate. No poop.
His will is iron. I am stubborn as well, and really digging my heels in on the handling feces issue.
So, basically, I’m writing to keep myself awake long enough so I can see this animal go to the bathroom.
It’s like staying up for Santa, except it really isn’t like that at all. (Unless you had HORRIBLE Christmases as a child, I suppose).
So I thought you all should know my shackled-to-an-animal-awaiting-the-poo status.
That is all. Enjoy your evening.