Tuesday nights usually find me enjoying a quiet night at home with the Greyhounds while Mr. Taleteller and Morgan are off at class. For the most part, it's a relaxing night until the other part of our pack arrives home. After the initial excitement of being reunited, things usually settle down again. However, this week was a little different.
I had joked with my husband earlier that I never get foot rubs anymore, and so upon his return home, he sat on the couch beside me to better massage my feet instead of in his chair, setting off a chain reaction of events. Firstly, Bunny was offended that he sat on our couch uninvited, by her at least, and set out to let him know that he'd better make room for the princess. She does this by staring at him with her invisible laser beam eyes and if those fail to work, she finds a way to climb into the narrowest possible sliver of available couch space and laying down. To keep the peace, he simply scooted over closer to me and gave her the whole cushion at the other end of the couch. Bunny laid down, content that she'd asserted her authority.
Now I should mention that a while back, Mr. Taleteller started the habit of always taking the dogs out when he got home, whether it was turn out time or not. I warned him that it wasn't a good idea, but he seems to think that he knows better. Alas, I digress. Lately, he's been rather annoyed that whenever Lilac sees him come home, she expects him to escort her outside to take car of business. Telling him that I think he taught her that would probably be unwise. Anyway, there was the excitement of his arrival, followed by the theft of the bed she wanted by a certain blue brindle mastermind. Lilac was walking around the living room and suddenly decided to drop a few turdlets into our life. My husband jumped off the couch and grabbed a tissue, flushing the offending and stinky thing down the toilet before retiring to his own chair to catch up on his own online things.
I sat on the couch and I could have sworn that I still smelled the offending odor. Since my spouse had already been...less than happy about the earlier herald of his arrival home, I tried to avoid saying anything. Finally, unable to take any more, I decided to get up and look around. That's when I saw it. A turdlet lay nestled in my new fuzzy pink slipper. How she managed to poop in my slipper is a mystery for the ages. "It was a million to one shot, doc," Mr. Taleteller chortled. I was unable to see the humor in the situation. At least my husband carried the slipper off to the washing machine before I throttled a certain dark brindle Greyhound.
Me: Why would you poop in my slipper?
Lilac: You've got to poop when the spirit says "poop."
Me: It's not funny! Don't you have any shame?
Lilac: Shame? Is this another one of those complicated human emotions? I don't trouble myself with those.
Me: (grumbling) You're lucky you're old!
Lilac: It's not the party you make it out to be, but it has a few perks.
Lilac: I'll just be over here taking my late evening nap if you decide to start passing out bedtime treats.
I know she didn't do it on purpose. It's just one of those indignities of old age, and they aren't easy for the aged or those living with them. I'm praying that it was a million to one shot that can never be repeated. Still, just to be sure, I'll be watching TV this weekend with my slippers on. After all the times Bunny has joked about "poo in the shoe" I never thought it could really happen to me. Still, what can you do besides laugh about it? Okay, I'll admit, I'd have laughed a lot harder initially if it had happened to someone else. I'm just glad that we still have her around with us and can laugh about her antics.