So much for the start to a good birthday. Woke up early to drive Sunni to the airport, and as I stumbled to the back door to let the dogs out, I stepped into a pile of dog crap. Barefoot. Usually my nose would have given me a pre-warning, but as it was 4 a.m., it was surely still snoozing.
Domi is our 14-year old terrier. Occasionally he gets ill, or decides to throw a tantrum and poops about the house. It was definately his work. Last year, he ate a whole lot of tulip bulbs from the back yard and it set him off for days. Maybe he was sick today, or feeling upset and overstimulated because Sunni had been to visit. New people in the house can be traumatising to a dog who is set in his ways. Whatever the cause, gagging my way through the clean-up process did not inspire sympathy.
Happy birthday to you,
you big pile of poo.
You look like a pooper,
and you smell like one too.
Perhaps I can consider it good luck. "May your year be rich and plentiful." Perhaps it was Domi's birthday gift to me.
