It seems that everyone likes to hear about the adventures of Lola, and so I'm digging into the archives for this doozy. Even at an early age the pooch knew how to make me vomit...
It was a warm summer day (not a blistering hot summer day...I live in Michigan and those don't exist, especially not last summer.) My sweet pup was about 6 months old. She hated being left behind and my husband had been nagging at me to take her with me when I ran errands. He had been taking her on trips in the car and she was doing great. We wanted to acclimate her to all kinds of things in her youth to ensure she would be a people loving, easy going dog.
I gave Lola some time in the yard for a "bathroom break" and then we headed off on our journey.
We ran around town together, wind in our hair, enjoying each other's company. Lola was doing great. Like most of her first year, I forgot she was a puppy. She was so well behaved.
My last stop was Lowes. I knew I'd have to go inside the store for this one, but all I needed was a gallon of paint (right of the shelf paint, not even custom colored.) I parked on the edge of the lot, and cracked all the windows. I was just going to be a few minutes...
In and out, no problem. Less than ten minutes.
As I approached the truck I could hear Lola barking in her happy voice. She was bouncing around the front seat so happy to see me. I'm not exactly what you would call a dog person, but at this moment I thought I could pass for one. I was looking forward to saying hello to my little pup.
I reached for the door and at this moment knew something was not right. I could smell disaster, literally. I opened the door and the stench of dog shit hit me like a brick wall, and then my gag reflux kicked in. Lola came bouncing toward me, covered in her own feces. I picked her up, wrapped her leash around some car part and set her on the pavement. The odor was so intense that I had to turn around to catch my breath. I then began to assess the damage.
It seems that the bulk of damage, the actually impact site, occurred directly on the crack in the front seat (of course it did.) From here it was apparent that Lola then stepped into the poo (using all four of her paws), shoving it deep, down into the seat crevice. The cab of that truck was coated in shitty paw prints and shitty smudges. I can't even begin to imagine how all of this happened in less than ten minutes.
I wanted to cry. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to just throw the truck away and get a new one. I looked around the parking lot in despair and then reality sank in. I was going to have to drive this thing home.
I took a deep breath and made my move. I circled the truck, gagging, as Lola bounced at my feet. I opened all the doors to air out the truck and found some old rags in the back seat. (I was really grateful at this point that I was driving Ben's truck and that he has all kinds of weird things in the back seat: like tools, tow chains, and RAGS!)
Taking a rag in my right hand I grasped what was left of the giant mound of poo on the front seat, but then I didn't know what to do with it. Usually, I am totally against littering, but at this moment all environmental conviction left me and chucked the rag full of crap under the truck.
I wanted to get more of the feces out of the truck but I didn't know how. The crap was smeared into the upholstered seats, the windshield was covered with poop, and what I like to call canine hieroglyphics decorated the dashboard. It was everywhere. Perfect little paw silhouettes and streaks of brown poop covered every surface I could see. So I gave up. I didn't know what to do at this point. I just knew I needed to get home. I needed to get in proximity to my garden hose, rubber gloves, and a disinfectant.
I lined the seat with rags and picked up my shitty, little dog and placed her in the passenger seat. At this point I looked down to see Johnny's face was also covered in crap ( I was sporting a very awesome, vintage, Johnny Cash, Folsom Prison T-shirt.) I sat in the driver's seat, tears filled my eyes, and started the car. I tried to buckle up using just my pinky fingers, and placed the belt behind my back. I didn't want to rub the shit on Johnny's face into the strap. I tried to only touch the steering wheel with the palms of my hands (mostly because the steering wheel was caked in shit) but that proved quite difficult at the fist turn. I hadn't wanted to roll the windows down, for fear that the smeared on crap would get trapped in the door compartment, but the stench was so intense that I had no choice but to roll them down.
Of course, instantaneously, my nose started to itch, my hair needed tucked behind my ear, and I felt so dirty...I wanted a shower in the worst way. It was the worst drive home ever, of all time. I kept dry heaving the entire way home, and every chance I got I stuck my head out the window (as if I were the dog.) All the while Lola just sat there in the passenger seat smiling, looking around at her work with a twinkle in her eye.
I was mostly concerned for Johnny. I bought the T-shirt on ebay and couldn't imagine a world without this garment in it! As for the truck, I thought (for sure) it was a lost cause. I wondered if the insurance company could just "total it." And, as I mentioned above, Lola was unaware, maybe even a little proud? Turns out all three cleaned up just fine. And I took about a million showers to decontaminate myself after cleaning up the others (I even used the disinfectant on myself.)
