If It Smells Like Poo….

It’s a tush-dragging kind of a day. Back sore. Legs sore. Arms sore. My eyelashes are fine however. Not sore.

I’m not exactly sure why I’m dragging, unless my body is fighting something I don’t know about or it’s something to do with that “a-word” (age). Grrr.  Thursday I took two SWEAT classes back to back; lifted weights (hitting another benchmark for dead-lifts), followed by my favorite  punch bag class. Then I cycled 42 miles on Friday. I was so tired from that ride that once home, I made myself a sandwich, grabbed a glass of milk, sat in my comfy chair and didn’t move for nearly two hours…not even to shower post ride! Gross, I know!  I was just so tired; I had barely finished my sandwich before dozing off. Since The Poodle was at my side, I’m sure he was mightily disappointed that there wasn’t a morsel of cheese left on my plate as I drifted off for a good twenty minutes or so. Although he is pretty well-behaved around food he’d throw good training out the window in a heartbeat for cheese.

So this fatigue that I’ve been dealing with for a couple of days seems to have made me quite dopey in the head as well. More so than usual one could say.

You see, I was talking to my good friend Ms. Cookie who lives in North Carolina. She’s considering a three-day adventure to middle-earth just to see moi! I’m pleased as punch she wants to come for a visit though I’ll confess I’m wracking my brain over how to entertain her… here. When I lived in Southern California entertaining an out-of-town guest was never a problem. With a plethora of terrific restaurants, miles and miles of beach to enjoy and a host of places to explore, not to mention the fact that people watching anywhere in LA, provides entertainment on a whole different level. And, living in the Washington D.C. area was a breeze for entertaining visiting friends and family too. I lived there for over 14 years and I still haven’t experienced all there is to see and do! So when Ms. Cookie comes to town, she’ll just have to be over-the-moon for the Space and Rocket Center. (Ahem…..so…. if you’re reading this Cookie, I’d forever be in your debt if you would fake it any way you can!).

Back to the point of this story: I’ve got my iPhone ear buds in and I’m talking to Cookie and all the while I am multi-tasking like a beast. My Garmin VivoFit activity tracker is happily ticking off the steps as I walk circles around my kitchen island, wash dishes by hand, dust the living-room furniture, sweep the back patio, and take The Poodle out for a walk around the block. I love carrying-on conversations this way. I’m moving and in the process, lots of things get done. Chores seem considerably less mundane when you’re talking to a friend all the while. Of course there can be one little drawback:

Sometimes one’s attention to detail is not quite optimal.

Case in point: I’d been walking around the kitchen island about twenty times now and it’s time to switch gears to the laundry (before dizziness set in). As I chat with Cookie about her latest good book read—and mine too— I’m heading to the bedroom for the laundry hamper. I haul it into the laundry room and start stuffing clothes into the washer (it’s a white load if you must know).  As we chat on and on I notice a smell. A somewhat vague but particularly unpleasant smell.

To be more specific, it smells like poop.

If it smells like poo…. then….there has got to be poo…somewhere!

Hmm. This is not good.

Ms. Cookie is talking about her Australian friend who isn’t too keen on Bill Bryson’s book about Australia. I had recommended it to Cookie back in August and I just loved it.  She’s reading it too and finds it quite entertaining.  Or…hmm, is it his book “A Walk in The Woods.”  Damn…I’m not paying attention (sorry Cookie…I’ll make it up to you with wine!).

“Oh why is that?” I ask half listening. I’m busy turning all the shoes over that are housed in the shoe bin on the floor, inspecting the soles trying to find the source of the poo smell. Perhaps I stepped in poop while out in the back yard. I was there too, cleaning out a couple of flower pots and the like before walking The Poodle.

Hmm; nothing here. The shoes are practically clean as a whistle.

Cookie chats on. She is explaining her friends’ thoughts on the author… something about not liking the author’s uniquely dry sense of humor. I’m starting to feel badly because Cookie is losing my attention… and to poop no less! Surely you understand! Though still vague in the air, my mind has escalated it to something much more. Like I may as well be in a port-o-john during a marathon.  The smell is starting to assault my senses big time. I’m vexed beyond measure as I inspect trash cans, cupboards, the powder room (which is right next to the laundry room) and the entire downstairs floor area. Did The Poodle poop inside the house?!  Impossible!  That only happened once and that was six years ago because I’d given him a sampling of fresh veal that I was preparing (let’s just say it wasn’t a pleasant experience for either of us and leave it at that!).

Desperate now to find the source of the smell I start to rifle through a basket filled with dirty laundry.

Then, I shudder at a thought….

Poop cannot possibly be in the clothes hamper.

I’m standing in the middle of the laundry room, hands on hips, my head now clearly not into the conversation I should be having with my dear friend. Was I losing my mind?  I definitely smell poop.  Where the hell is this smell coming from?

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, a certain fog lifted from my brain. Little wheels that were at a dead stop were once again set into motion. A thought hit me square between the eyes. Early this morning—at 5:30 a.m. to be precise— I had walked The Poodle for a good forty-five minutes. And, then later in the day during my call with Cookie I’d taken The Poodle for a walk around the block.

Hmm. I used different leashes. He’s got three of them; a short lead leash in the car, a green leash in a basket by the front door and another blue one hanging in the laundry room.

And there it was.

Hanging on the wall by the door to the outside. The Poodle’s blue leash.  poopholder

The Poodle’s blue leash has a nifty little plastic gizmo for the express purpose of holding poop-filled bags. And indeed, there were two—not one…but two— large, particularly odoriferous poop-filled bags hanging on The Poodle’s leash. This was the leash I had used for his early morning walk. I remember It was a two-poop kind of a walk. I’d obviously completely forgotten to properly dispose of the poop bags before entering the house!

I slap my forehead and let out a huge sigh of relief. Whew. I wasn’t going crazy (well…you know what I mean). The smell was not a figment of my imagination but rather a result of being totally scatter-brained and maybe just a wee bit tired! I start laughing, and of course must ‘fess up to Cookie over my dopey senior moment. We share a laugh over it while I think to myself that in the future perhaps I shouldn’t multi-task so fervently whilst catching up with my girlfriends on the phone. It’s best to be present with the ones you love. Poodles included.

Today’s bliss? Laughing at self…over and over again!

One thought on “If It Smells Like Poo….

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