Oh, it gets worse
Bad news: There is a steaming pile of dogshit in my apartment.
Worse news: I don’t know where it is.
I can definitely smell it—the stink just about knocks you over when you open the front door—but I CAN’T FIND THE TURD. Believe me, I’ve looked and looked. Fortunately, most of my clothes were in the closet with the door closed, so I don’t have to worry about them. Still, it bothers me that my apartment reeks of poo and I can’t clean it up.
The tricky thing is that I stop being able to smell it after two or three minutes inside, so I can’t follow my nose to the poo-bomb. Sam refuses to tell me where it is, though I’ve probably asked him to “show Mommy your poo-poo” like fifty times. Brat.
In other Sam news, we went back to the vet today for a retest, and we’re Giardia-free! (Sammy is, at least—they weren’t sticking one of those things up *my* ass.) Finally, Sam can play with other dogs again without fear of them shitting their brains out the next day. Dog park, here we come!
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P.S. The change I made earlier was to align the main column of text “ragged right” instead of justifying it. It’s technically the way you’re *supposed* to align ordinary webpage text in the first place, and so far I like it better anyway, so I’m keeping it. It gives the page a tiny bit more of a casual feel, plus it makes those lines with ridiculously long words look less wonky.
Tags: Sam