One Dog, Two Dog, White Dog, Blue Dog

There are tons of back-up stories I have for the occasional day that all of the animals aren't being funny. It's rare.

Today there was really nothing good happening. Sully spent most of his day stretching beyond the bounds of his ridiculously expensive, ridiculously huge dog bed and Daisy did the same, in her smaller, less expensive (but still expensive) dog bed. The pigs were both (I hate saying both. Just a week ago it was ALL. A collective guinea pig herd. Now it is two. Two's company, but three's a party.) just squeaking at me randomly and the birds threw their seeds around as normal.

So I'm reverting to a story that is about seven months old.

When we started letting Sully sleep on his couch and not in his crate at night, I was hyper vigilant to any little noise he might make. The smallest of groans would wake me and make me sit up to stare into the living room. Most of the time he was sleeping on his bed in the midst of a good dream. Sometimes he was just sliding off of the couch to grab a drink of water before heading back to bed. I relaxed gradually and was able to get a good night's sleep about a month into the new system of non-crating.

Small noises would no longer wake up. That's when we started noticing the foot prints.

There were muddy paw prints all over our tub. Not every morning, but most mornings. Nothing was missing from the shower, just the footprints. It was not Daisy, of course. These were Sully's paws leaving behind evidence he had no idea he was leaving, and no idea how to clean up even if he did realize he'd left them.

We just chalked it up to the fact that when he got a bath, he enjoyed the shower head. He liked having it sprayed up into his lips. Remnants of biscuits eaten days, weeks, who knows how long ago would coast out of his teeth and lip folds and circle down the drain. We figured he was just in there looking for a good time.

We probably should have just closed the bathroom door and not let him in. But he wasn't getting into anything. And the footprints washed away easily when I showered in the mornings. No harm, no foul.

Until the soap was eaten. Then there was foul. So much foul. Two bars of soap were consumed in less than 12 hours.

I don't know if you've ever seen a cartoon where someone is farting bubbles after swallowing something like soap or... bubble solution. It's comical. You laugh. You never consider that it could be a real possibility until you're in your yard watching your dog poo a stream of snow-white, frothy liquid. For two days.