Last week I had the displeasure of cleaning dog poop out of my car, not once, but twice! As the owner of a doggie daycare, this is not the first time this has happened to me. But it is the first time it has happened multiple times in one week.
Layla, a first time offender, can not be blamed for her momentary indiscretion as the sausage and fish her owners had fed her the night before and the morning of did not sit well with her sensitive stomach. Poor little Layla had “the runs” all day and seemed truly apologetic and ashamed of her crimes against my Rav-4.
Unfortunately for myself, Layla’s upset stomach coincided with one the windiest days of the year thus far in Boston, Beverly, and beyond. The irony of Mother Nature’s cruel game of tag as I transported the sullied blankets in the car to the dumpster at the end of the lot, all the while dodging against her wicked winds, was not lost on me. Despite my best efforts, M.N. won that game and I traipsed home at the end of the day smelling faintly of filth and stench (my fiance confirmed this).
Morky, on the other hand, was a repeat offender. Prior to last week’s offense his record of recidivism was already high (at this point in time he has now defecated in my car three times and urinated in it once). In keeping with the breed standard, Morky, a Bulldog, is stubborn and willful, and it is of my professional opinion that these “accidents” had little to do with an upset stomach or an inability to “hold it” and more to do with the frustration of welcoming a new baby into his life, thereby demoting him from “top dog” to secondary companion in the eyes of his owners.
I’m a firm believer in second changes, but three strikes and your out and four strikes and you’re banned from the Dingo-mobile! This particular decision was a tough call. I adore Morky’s owners and Morky himself is relatively well behaved when not in the car. But the time and money it takes to clean a car that has been soiled in such a way forced my hand in this particular instance. I can think of few things worse then being cooped up in a vehicle smaller than the size of the smallest dorm room and stinking of a smell so foul you have to breathe through your mouth to keep from gagging. And you think the subway smells bad?
So it’s all fun and games until a dog poops in your car. And as rewarding and enjoyable as my job is, like any other profession, it’s not without it’s headaches. But that’s life I suppose. We take the good with the bad and hope that the good, more times than not, outweighs and outnumbers the bad. Shit happens. Sometimes it even happens in the car. But we must always remember to laugh…if only but to keep from crying.
Til next time…