Puppy Tummy (Trigger warning: Poopie scenes 💩)

Some of the tools of the evening 

At 2am, nature calls. As I walk back to my room by the door to the first floor, I sense something. In bed, my thoughts churn. A few minutes later I get up and stand at the top of the stairs again. Now, a whisper of a familiar smell. 

I dress fully, boots and all. As I head down stairs with my headlamp on high, that whisper of a smell turns into a steady moan. I knew what I’d find.

Little Maggie, eyes averted, sits at the back of her crate with a spread of diarrhea at her feet. I get to work: spread 7 or 8 towels on the walk from the crate to the back doors; grab rug cleaner, dog wash soap, sponges, dish towels; turn on lots of lights; and grab Maggie’s leash. I open the crate and hook up the princess.... 

To avoid spreading the filth, I lead her with strong hands to the back deck. I leash her to the outside railing and get to work cleaning. I’ve lost track how often this has happened, but it's pretty clear that the culprit are treats.  

Praying this won’t happen again.