One of the downsides to living in an apartment with a dog is the toilet thing. Misti the Wonder Dog is pretty good, managing to hold on to her pishes until she gets taken outside. She's taken out regularly. She starts each day with an hour walk with Jackie, our amah (helper). She'll go out twice more during the day, and then at night, sometimes with me and sometimes with Jackie. But one thing Misti cannnot get the hang of is where to do her No. 2s. Luckily we have wooden flooring so it's jusst a matter of picking it up when it appears. Having two kids as well means usually I'm pretty immune to the feelings of repulsion one would expect when dealing with this. In fact JC often helpfully points out the offending items, by calling out "Poooo poooo" until something is done about it.

I'm usually the first one out of bed in the mornings as I chow down some cereal and get ready for work. I can tell straight away if Misti has left something for us overnight. Don't ask how. It's a sixth sense. Actually, I can smell it too, but this is all gross enough already. This morning I could tell. I went to the usual spot where these things are left. Sure enough there it was. But Misti is not feeling well and you can tell. Usually her deposits are nice and hard and easy to pick up in a plastic bag and throw away. Not today. I could hardly face my cereal again.

That was a bad start. But then JC was playing by the doll's house. Yes she is a genius and very cute and she's toilet trained. However today she had an accident. Again with a number 2. In the middle of the dining room. I'm just trying to eat some corn flakes and read the paper. It's too early to deal with this stuff.

Normally all this doesn't affect me too much. For some reason the one-two punch really got me. Aren't kids and dogs great? Still I know when I walk in the door tonight JC and PB will look and beam when they see me, and Misti will be jumping up and down with her tail wagging furiously. By then, all this morning's events will be a distant memory.