On Monday morning, I woke up 7am, to the sound of Terry swearing and muttering to himself in the hall, and to a REALLY strong smell pervading the house.
No, this isn’t an action replay of my last post: don’t worry, I’m not going to bore you with a million photos of rubber ducks and rollers again. This was Monday. And it turns out that my whole, “Oh, yeah, Rubin hardly EVER has his ‘accidents’ in the house now! Is a proper little angel, in fact!” thing? Well, famous last words.
Because this time the smell pervading the house wasn’t onion bhajis.
It wasn’t even pee.
RUBIN POOPED ON MY SHOE SHELVES, PEOPLE.
Yes, he did.
And also all over himself and his bed.
So I spent the early hours of Monday morning showering a strangely excited dog, who seemed to think he was in line for some kind of REWARD for his performance. Terry, meanwhile, spent those same early hours scrubbing the floor, the shelves and Rubin’s bed down with bleach. Then scrubbing himself. Then spraying air-freshner throughout the house, and by “air-freshner” I mean “we didn’t actually have any air freshener, so he used deodorant instead.” Thanks, Rubin.
Thankfully, Rubin’s aim isn’t the greatest, so he missed all of the shoes. The intent was there, though, I’m sure of it.
And that’s why Rubin doesn’t get to sleep in the office any more. And why our house now smells very strongly of men’s deodorant.