Monday, August 8, 2011

Potty Time for Da; A Night time Terror!

As I walked down the hall to the stairs last night, it became apparent that one of my dogs, the mopey one, is passive aggressively trying to kill me.  I am not sure exactly why I get this feeling, but I am pretty sure that I am correct in my assumption.

You see, every time it is dark in the house she immediately scurries to lay down in the highest traffic areas.  That way she can trip somebody up and hopefully make them fall.  She’s an evil dog!

And, it seems that she just happens to hate me and only me because I swear I am the only person that gets tripped up by her.

Now, I can’t possibly say for sure that she is doing this on purpose, but I can tell you that she refuses to move out of the gardrammed way when she knows I am coming down the hall and she is obviously laying in the only place that I am likely to cross. 

So, for the last few months whenever I get up in the middle of the night I have to shuffle my feet little bit by little bit whenever it’s dark searching for the dog I know is there just waiting for me to fall to my death. 

When I do find her, if I haven’t already fallen, I am stuck with the task of trying to outline her prostrate figure with my foot so I don’t step on her.  This takes some doing since the other dog will undoubtedly come out of nowhere and try to tackle me, thinking that at 2:30 in the morning I am up for a game roughhouse.    

If I survive this portion of heading downstairs, then all I have to do to get to the safety of the bathroom is navigate through the obstacle course of random toys that the boy set up in the living room.

You know, before the boy started playing actively with his little minions on wheels I would have never guessed that I would fear for my life every time I had to let some water out of my minnow tank at night, but I can honestly now say that it frightens me a little. 

It’s true.  I am constantly weighing the pros and cons of getting up out of bed in the middle of the night.  Between my knuckle headed dogs and the boy’s mine field, the basic act of walking to the toilet is treacherous. 

Last night I had to practically do a split to get around the mopey, killer dog only to end up skating across the kitchen on two of the boy’s cars.  It must have been pure wizardry that made it so I ended up stepping on one car and then while I was trying to maintain my balance I ended up stepping on another car with my other foot. 

I was instantly panic stricken, and it was miraculous that I hadn’t fallen.  Luckily, the counters caught me.

Anyway, after last  night’s little episode I decided that from now on I am bringing a funnel and an empty one liter bottle to bed with me.

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