Friday night we had guests staying with us, E & K, good friends who enjoy music, good food, fine wine, church and good conversation just like we do. We went to a Jazz concert at the University, returning home after 11:00. Our poor babysitter finally got to go home but we were ready to party, not go to bed. We stayed up talking and singing four-part harmony until after 1:00, pretending we were carefree college students instead of responsible parents of two children. Little did we know the night was not done yet.
At last we dragged our tired hineys to bed, our noses still full of woodsmoke from our downstairs fire that had filled with room with glowing warmth. With the lights low, we climbed into our soft sheets and Hubby read a chapter of our current "light reading" paperback, in this case, a Louis L'Amour western. As Hubby clicked the light off and we prepared to drift off, the nagging thought kept entering my mind that something was wrong.
"Do you smell something?" I asked at last to the darkness.
Hubby affirmed that he did indeed smell something stinky. He hadn't at first noticed it because he had been smelling woodsmoke all night (we forgot to crack the window, so the fireplace smoked more than usual). But now he was sure. There was definitely a smell in the room and the more we thought about it the stronger it seemed to get.
Our first thought was that the cat had sneaked up there and messed under the bed. So far this cat has been the model of propriety when in the house, but we figured it could end at any time. The smell wasn't particularly cat-like; still Hubby jumped out of bed and flipped on the light, sniffing under the bed where he reported there was no smell.
Now I was thoroughly concerned and began looking around too, pushing back the sheets and blankets I had been snuggled into for the past twenty minutes. As I did, I received a shocking revelation. There on my sheets was a slimy, sticky mess of dog-poo! It was on my pajamas, sheets and had seeped through onto my blankets. I flew out of bed like a rocket, gagging. I don't believe I have ever changed clothes faster than that night, stripping out of my pajamas there and then. As fast as we could we stripped the sheets and dumped the whole gooey mess in the laundry room.
Why had she done this? My dog has NEVER messed in my room before. A few times when I have been remiss in putting her out all day she will find a corner of the basement to use but never has she done anything like this. I wondered what message she was trying to send me.
But we weren't done yet.
Hubby began putting on a clean flat sheet when he encountered something additional. Down a crack beside the mattress there was another "gift". I think at that moment I heard swearing from my usually gentle Hubby. The clean sheet went downstairs as did the mattress pad. Out came some disinfectant. We both worked to clean, remove, disinfect and attempt to hunt down some additional sheets and blankets. All the sets we owned were now in the laundry. We finally found a Christmas afghan and a top sheet and remade the bed.
Our clock read 2:13 when we finally turned off the light for the last time, me clad in clean pajamas and with hands and body carefully washed. Although I was the one to get the brunt of the mess, I felt sorriest for my poor Hubby. He hates dogs at the best of times and I think Friday night he would have cheerfully poisoned my poor little Piper after the mess she had left. I have to admit, I was not far behind him in that sentiment.
Needless to say we drank a lot of coffee the next day in order to keep our eyes open to do the Saturday chores, take care of the kids and talk coherently with our friends. We ain't in college no more. Nights as late as that one take their toll and I have not felt myself since.