Really this cold weather has a lot to answer for.
It is getting warmer now, thank goodness. It is above freezing, and the relief is huge. It has been painfully cold and I am very glad it is over.
The ice has not gone, but the forecast is for heavy rain, which should get rid of it, also the dog poo that somebody has walked all along the alley.
I think it may be the current cold snap that has been responsible for our recent dog poo issues. You might recall that I have done some grumbling about animal incontinence lately, and the theme has continued. This morning Rosie had had half a dozen revolting accidents. The worst of these were in the conservatory, where she had almost managed to go outside, but obviously hadn’t. I cannot, or certainly do not wish to, describe the unspeakable dreadfulness of canine diarrhoea on a heated floor, especially after several hours of sitting there, warmly drying, like an unusually repellent fragrance diffuser.
I had to scrub it.
I was not very nice to her. Indeed, I was so cross with her that she was scared to come in the house from the back yard. I had booted her out into the yard when I discovered it, in case there was any left to come out, but unsurprisingly there wasn’t.
I think she just did not want to go outside. I don’t exactly blame her. I would not wish to go outside to poo when the temperature is minus three, or whatever it was last night, but this did not make me like her any more. Some offences are not easily forgiven, especially when it is too cold to open the windows.
I do not know what she has been eating to result in such ghastly indigestion. My guess, given the fragrance and her previous form, is that it was cat accidents.
Can I take this opportunity to suggest that you never, never, allow your dog to lick your nose. Their personal habits are just too revolting for words.
I might have mentioned that I am going off animals. Rosie could consider herself another brick in the wall.
I was trying to clean up quietly at first, because Mark was still in bed, but eventually horror got the better of me, and You Wicked Dog Look What You’ve Done began floating up the stairs as possibly one of the least appealing alarm calls ever, and he got up. I had almost finished by then, so we had a cup of tea and got on with our daily activity.
I made a curtain to go in the loft window, which was when I discovered the cat accident on the office carpet. Rosie must have missed that one. After that there was a further dog accident in the loft, and some wicked dog had been making a comfortable nest on the clean bed up there as well. I do not know if that was Rosie, but I blamed her since it was too complicated to drag both of them up there to suffer my fierce and scary wrath.
After that I supposed that since there was no possible way the house could conceivably smell any worse, I might as well fry some things, so I mashed up potatoes and sweet potatoes and made potato cakes for Mark to live on next week in the camper van. These tasted splendid, but did nothing for the general domestic aroma, which now smells of old grease as a sort of top note to the dog poo fragrance.
Mark did not notice any of this. He went outside to fix my car, which has got an MOT on Monday. I remembered guiltily afterwards that all of his next week’s clothes had been hanging in the kitchen to dry, and will probably smell awful all week, but that will just have to be a surprise for Monday.
I might light some more incense and see if that helps.
They can all go and live in the garden.
