Eau de puppy

This last weekend, my aunt (daddy's sister) had to go to a conference in Miami, so I was able to stay with my 10-year-old cousin for a night. I was looking forward to it, 'cause the last time I stayed with Katie only one week earlier, I was sick enough to make me rather miserable and very bad company. Who knew that curly blonde little toddlers so cute you just have to hug them could carry such vicious bugs? I know she's at the age when mommy and daddy are trying to teach her to share, but that's just ridiculous.
But this time, having successfully evicted the bug that had decided to move into my person, I was feeling better and ready for a girl's night to the fullest. I had been in contact with Nanny for several days prior to the actual event (almost to the point of laughability), so there were really no surprises in store. Or so I thought.
The morning I was due to arrive at the house, Nanny called me with a huge favor. Apparently, one of her several dogs had had an accident during the night, and poor Katie had tried to clean up as best a 10-year-old in the middle of the night can. So, Nan asked if when I arrived at the house, I would help my cousin in her dog-caring responsibilities, guiding and instructing her young efforts. I magnamiously agreed. It couldn't be too bad, right?
When I entered the house that afternoon, I was met almost at the door by eau de puppy poop. Not my favorite house fragrance, gotta say. Walking back to the bedroom, the smell became so overwhelming that even my efforts to breathe through my mouth to avoid the odor were unsuccessful...instead of smelling it, I could taste it. I decided to avoid that area of the house completely for as long as I could, and breathe through my nose.
Soon Kate arrived home from school. Before settling into every child's favorite activity - homework - we started off with an even better activity...cleaning up puppy poop. I noticed that there were rags thrown onto the floor, covering what I thought were the remains of the accident from the previous night. Kneeling before the first rag, I carefully tried to scoop up what lingered there and throw the rag into the washing machine. However, I found more than I expected....much more. In fact, the "cleaning up" Kate had reported to her mother in the wee hours of the morning actually consisted of throwing rags over the mess, giving the air a generous douse of Febreeze, and climbing back into bed to sleep. Apparently, one of dogs tried to wake her in the middle of the night, and she did what I as a 10-year-old probably would've done as well....rolled over and ignored them, thinking that the dog was just trying to take advantage of my opposible thumbs. ("Hey, you guys....look how well I have my human trained! I snuffle in their ear, and they let me out. Yep, it took a lot of work, but it's all been worth it......a well-trained human is a reward in itself.") Plus, they had probably already woke her up several times, and she was tired. She had to go to school in the morning. I don't blame her.... but I am amazed that she was actually able to sleep.
I realized as I looked the horrendous mess on the floor that this was going to be much more involved than I originally anticipated. You see, this wasn't normal puppy poop - this was explosive diahrrea puppy poop. Yippee. Wrapping plastic bags around my arms up to my elbows, I armed myself with rags and a stick. (Yes, the mess was stuck onto the floor - as in, plastered sort of stuck.) And so, my ordeal began. On my hands and knees, I scrubbed and scraped what I could of the mess and scooped in up into rags...several rags. (You see, at the time, there didn't seem to be paper towels in the house, so that meant I had some serious laundry to do.) Soon scraping gave way to scrubbing with a damp towel, Cinderella-style.
Watching my efforts with a look of mute disgust, and giving the air an occasional generous spritz of Febreeze, Kate stood above me, "helping". At one point, she glanced down at me and said, "You know, you're handy!" I smiled and thanked her for the lovely compliment, and then turned back the...you know.
Eventually, realizing that the afternoon (and my hopes of a girl's night) were rapidly slipping away, I thanked her for her help and told her that she might go start her homework. Never in my life have I seen a child so excited to start her homework.
Once I finished the wood floor mess, I began on the carpet. (Oh yes - there was some on the carpet too!) Nanny said that she had this magic rug cleaner that was so simple - just spray, wait, and dab! BAM! It's gone! Thinking how nice it would be at the BAM! It's gone! stage, I sprayed liberally, praying at the the dark marks would magically disappear before my eyes. But you know the old adage - a watched pot never boils. I assumed that the theory was probably applicable to the puppy stains, so I left to start on the laundry, expecting that when I came back, the stains would have BAM!ed themselves away.
Apparently, Nanny's magic carpet cleaner had met it match. I returned after the 3-4 minutes prescribed by the cleaning solution bottle, my soul full of cleaning hopes, only to be disappointed. The stains remained in all their glory. Crap - literally.
I decided to leave well-enough alone. I had done what I could. The smell was disapating by the second (all the fans in the house going full blast), and the trash put outside to stink up the alley. Kate could sleep in this room happily scent-free. I called her in to inspect the job, and she re-entered the room with the look of a cat who has been stepped on one too many times and is now being lured back into the same old trick. Gingerly, she sniffed at the air and said, "I still smell a little something." I reassured her (and myself) that as the evening wore on, the smell would continue to fade; and since there were still several hours between now and bedtime, she could be comfortably certain of a huge improvement. Nodding, she skipped happily back to her homework.
My project had taken me an hour.
That night, as I situated her and the four dogs in bed, I made her solemnly promise me (after all, swearing is bad) that if any of the dogs so much as sniffed in her direction, she would let them out pronto. She assured me that she would. After all, spending last night with that mess (which seriously concerned me about the dogs' health - after all, the pile had been the size of a puppy, I kid you not) had probably taught her a very valuable lesson in this area. I kept the dog we suspected of the deed most strongly with me, knowing I would be sure to let her out. Plus, Kate needed the sleep.
The next morning, I groggily awoke to find that we had accused the wrong dog. In the master bedroom, what should I find but - yes! You guessed it! Another mess! Apparently, exhausted Kate had not been wakened by a frantic dog, or the dog had just decided to make me feel useful. (Thank you sooooooooo much.) This mess was smaller, and easier to clean up. (God is merciful.) I cleaned it much faster this time and got my breakfast, shooting dirty looks at the three canines who had slept in that room. If you so much as sit on the floor and cross your eyes, I told them callously with an I-dare-you look, I will skin you myself. Or at least lock you outside for the rest of the time I'm here.
Kate noticed my less-than-jovial morning mood (after all, I hadn't been allowed to sleep too well, considering the dog with me decided she liked my bed more than her bed, and I didn't have the energy to fight her - only to find out later that she is a bed-hog), and went to school rather relieved, I think. Flipping all the fans on again, I returned to my room to catch a few more minutes repose after locking all four dogs outside, and getting sick joy at ignoring them when they asked to come in. (It wasn't even cold outside, the babies.) Eventually, I reconciled with them to some degree, but a belief had firmly embedded itself in my mind.

I'm so not getting paid enough for this.