Ah, the gifts from Gus

When we had everyone over for Easter, Nick and I did a deep-clean of the house. We were concerned about our niece, Isabelle, who hasn't really been around a lot of animals and we didn't want her to have any issues because of Gus or Budda. It was a lot of work, completely worth it, but a lot of work. I don't think there are enough ways to describe the feeling of sitting in your own clean house, knowing that your sweats and tears made it clean. But it's a lot of work!

Anyway, enough of the rambling about cleaning the house. There is a point to the ramblings, however. When I've vacuumed twice and spent time on (likely imaginary) spots on the carpet and then the dog runs around the backyard and drags in dog poo not once, but TWICE, it's amazing if your head doesn't explode. And mine did a little bit. The first time the poo only got on the rug by the French doors and a footprint or two ended up on the kitchen floor when I dragged him in there to clean it off. No big deal, right?

Round two: Gus has poo all over his foot and I don't realize it until he's in the kitchen and there are footprints all over. When I go to grab him, he runs from me. Still has poo on his foot and he proceeds to run all over the house. Livid doesn't begin to describe my feelings at this point. I cleaned Gus up and dragged him upstairs to his crate while I spent over an hour cleaning the kitchen and carpets downstairs. Serious angry face. Took me a little while to forgive him.

And then last night. Ah, last night. Nick called me as soon as he started shift to tell me that they needed him to work overtime, so he was picking up an extra 4 hours, meaning he wouldn't be home until 6am. Fine. I had 3 huge loads of laundry to do and I was really tired. At about 1:30am, Gus and I went upstairs to go to bed (because of Nick's work schedule, we've turned into real night owls, rarely going to bed before 3am). I'm reading Interview With a Vampire, so I read for a little while and turned the light out at around 2. I'm having some crazy dreams (the result of reading a macabre book before falling asleep, I'm sure) when I hear the sound every animal owner dreads. Blehhh! Gus puked up his dinner on the bed. Lovely. It's 4:30am. At first I'm thinking that I can clean the spot, not tell Nick it happened, and wash the bedding when Nick goes to work. Unfortunately, that was not in the stars for me. Those lovely stars that were still shining outside our window since it was still so FREAKING EARLY! The puke had gone through the comforter to the sheet underneath. Off came all the bedding. Nick came home at 6:30 and the sheets were done, so he went to bed and I stayed up for another hour to wait for the comforter. I put it on Nick when it was done and then took a nap on the couch while I waited the two hours for my alarm to go off so I could start the crockpot for dinner. Yeah, slept through that. What a crappy day!

Anyway, point of all this: I love Gus. He's our first "child" and that fact doesn't change because he drives me crazy sometimes. In fact, it probably proves the point that he's our baby. Of course our baby would walk through his own doo and chuck up his dinner on the bed. Of course . . . dysfunctionality reigns supreme in our house! (And, quite honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.)