Sam, for the last week, had been coming home for lunch in order to take Grr out for his midday pee-and-poop. Today, he was stuck in meetings, so I said that I would gladly do the honor.
And I did look forward to it all morning, thinking about the way Sam had described their lunch-time dates as frisky and full of puppy energy. I love puppy energy, especially if the puppy and I can expend it together so he stays out of trouble. I also figured it would be a good way for Grr and I to spend some one-on-one time together, since Sam gets so much more of it than I do.
I biked home excitedly, and when I opened the door, Grr was, as expected, in his crate. Along with him, though, was one of Sam's shoes. Its other half had been taken from the closet to the middle of the living room floor. I fetched both and inspected them. No damage, so I figured I got home just in time before the maiming began. I made a mental note to report this to Sam, and I secretly got a sick thrill from the opportunity to tattle on him. It was kind of big news: puppy's first destruction.
Before we could play, though, I carried him out and took our usual lap from one side of the building to the other, the only section of the sidewalk he feels comfortable with. He peed twice, didn't poop. No big deal.
We came home. I praised him for being such a good boy and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. I bent down and grabbed one of his toys, ready to get him squirreled up and tired out.
Then I saw it.
Actually, I saw them, sitting innocuously on the shaggy black rug: one medium sized, soft-serve-shaped coil of poop, and four additional islets of what looked like burnt pea soup in both color and consistency.
Suddenly, the shoe infraction didn't seem like such a big deal.
I then proceeded to spend the next 30 minutes on my hands and knees, cleaning with resolve. Literally, actually, with Resolve, spraying sections of the rug with the carpet cleaner and going through half a roll of paper towels before figuring that I had cleaned the mess satisfactorily.
Well, I still wouldn't walk on that section of the rug barefoot. Or with socks on. Truth is, I can barely even look at it right now without feeling a little gross inside.
While I cleaned, I vacillated between anger directed at Grr, and anger directed at Sam. Even though it's been only a week, Grr had lulled us into an apparently false sense of security, and I felt betrayed. As for Sam, I couldn't believe that he did not make Grr poop before leaving him for the day.
It took a couple of hours or so, but I did come to the conclusion that it was neither Grr's fault, not was it Sam's. Grr is, after all, still a puppy, and mistakes happen. It just happened, and it was pure luck that it happened on the one day I came home for him.
But the rest of the day flew in the same trajectory. I couldn't reach an agreement between all the stakeholders on the direction of one of my projects. A meeting went unapologetically over my 5:00 PM tolerance for work. As I left the office, I got Sam's report that Grr possibly may have swallowed two small plastic buttons from a different pair of shoes along with a little knobby thing from the wall. Oh, and between the time I left Grr and Sam came home, Grr had peed on the same area of the rug he previously pooped on.
So today ended up just being one of "those days." I'm not in the best mood. But as much as temptation sat there beckoning for me, I did not take out my frustrations on Sam, which would normally be my default reaction. Nor did I take them out on Grr, for that matter. When I met them after work at the park, I was happy to see them in spite of myself, and I showed it. Best I could, I let go of the previous five hours. That's something to be thankful for, yes?
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