So last night Derek went out for a long bike ride, while Riley, Lola and I ventured into the backyard to pick pears and play. Riley was “mowing” the grass, thanks to Fischer Price and I was harvesting pears from our tree. So cool! Lola was off doing what dogs do, which I would come to find out are disgusting things.
I noticed her off in the distance, rolling around on her back in the grass. Now when I was a kid, I loved seeing our dog, Duke, roll in the grass because it just looked like he was soaking up life. The warm grass, the sunshine, he loved it all and got to scratch his back while he took it all in. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized, when dogs do that, they’re not soaking in all life has to offer. Oh no, they’re doing something grody. They’re usually rolling around in someone’s poop or in a dead carcass. LOVELY!
So anyway, Lola is rolling in some sort of nastiness in the distance. I tell her to come. She continues rolling. I repeat myself. She rolls. I rush over there and grab her collar. More rolling. I try to drag her off the nastiness (which I cannot see because she’s on top of it). Rolling ensues. Finally I get her off and attach her to her tie-up. I tell her she lost free range privileges for the night.
We go back to playing and picking pears. When it’s time to go in, I walk up to the patio door, where Lola is tied up. My nose smells an offensive odor. Ok, let’s not mince words. I smell something that is some stank ass shit smell. It smells like when you drive past a huge farm on a 90 degree day. It smells like straight up cow shit. And it is emanating from my dog. However, we have a fenced in yard, so I know for a fact that no cow has wandered into our yard. I do not know who shit in my yard, but I do know that my dog rolled in it and was in desperate need of a bath.
Even though Riley is only 17 months old, he’s a super duper active 17-month old. He must be watched every second. If not, he will undoubtably be standing on top of the coffee table, screaming gleefully, of course, or he will snatch my sunglasses from the top of my dresser and break them. Oh wait, he already did that this week. Therefore, I knew I couldn’t just let him roam free in the backyard while I bathed the dog, something neither she nor I would enjoy.
That’s when I turned to the one savior of parenthood. The television. Don’t judge! The motto of parenthood is that you will do things you said you’d never do. Oh, you will do them. Mark my words. So I plunked Riley down into the baby-proofed living room and turned on channel 293 – Baby First TV. Hey, at least it’s mildly educational. And fairly creepy, but he likes it.
I went outside and grabbed the hose, turned it on and yanked it over to Lola. I needed more slack, so I dropped it to go unwind more off the hose reel thingy. When I dropped the hose, OF COURSE, it landed on the trigger, and balanced perfectly, showering me in a icy mist from head to toe. The only way to stop it was to jump through the water and run over to the nozzle to turn the hose off. Ugh, I hope none of the neighbors saw me. If I had seen the same thing happen to my neighbor, I would’ve laughed so hard I’d choke on my Cornflakes.
I had to literally drag Lola over to me because she knew what was coming. I encouraged her and talked baby talk to her, but she was not buying it. So drag her I did. She did very well actually and was smelling fresh as a wet dog can smell in no time. And then she tried burrowing into a dirt pile. Come on dog, seriously. I cleaned her up, again, and we went into the house.
So this is what it feels like to have two kids. Not sure I’ve got it in me. I had an extra scoop of ice cream after they went to bed, let me tell you.