I was at work today from 7:30 am until 6:00 pm, with an hour break for a really lovely lunch with ana and Kellnerin. I was the last to leave today, and it was odd being in a completely quiet and deserted office. I haven't had that experience since graduate school.

It's cold here, and windy--windchills in the teens--and ana, being astoundingly wonderful, picked me up at the train station. When I sat in the car, I lost the drive I'd had all day, and most of the good humor. I just wanted to sit on the couch and vegetate for a while before thinking of such details as dinner.

On the couch, though, was a poop smear. Teh Dawg apparently has an upset tummy (probably from the antibiotics she's on), and the poop gets all embedded in the fur around her ass. She sits on the couch, and eeuw. Oh, well. I found the upholstery cleaner, took care of it, and tried, with limited success to focus on surfing the intarwebs.

"Can you talk me through making chicken stir-fry?" ana asked.

"Sure." I smiled. ana was going to cook. I could sit at the table and read or stare into space and offer advice.

A little while later, Teh Dawg got dinner and went outside. A few minutes later, she came back in. And shook all over. Poop flew, splattering all over the mudroom. I grabbed the wipes I'd purchased for such things and started wiping Teh Dawg's ass. Poop slid off the fur and landed on the floor. She, trying to get away from my not-so-gentle ministrations, stepped in it and spread it around a bit further.

I threw her in the bathtub, scrubbed her ass with White Musk bubblebath (the dog shampoo being upstairs and ana being busy stir-frying chicken and cashews and veggies). The matted-in-fur poop was worse than I first thought. "Can you bring me some scissors?" I yelled. They appeared over my right shoulder, and I grabbed the loose skin above Teh Dawg's tail and started trimming. Fur, poop, fur with poop, poop with fur.

Finally she was clean, dry, and running to find her stuffed mouse. I cleaned up the poop smeared on the bathroom floor, the tub, the mudroom floor, and me. 

"Well," I said. "If (God forbid) we should ever have a kid, I won't have to face anything this bad."

"Heh," ana replied. "Kids are much more creative with it after they've pooped."

I had to admit that ana had a point, and I heard an audible chunk as my biological clock ground to a halt.