Of Shit

A couple of years into dating, Daniel and I moved to Canada. Oh Canada.
Beautiful and cold with the warmest and kindest people. We leased a beautiful family home, we had a fenced in backyard, we had a pool, an awesome game room basement where I had my tap dancing platform Daniel made for me. Tap dancing lasted as long as it took to build the stage. Plenty of room for pets. We both grew up with pets, and I desperately wanted a dog. Growing up, it had always been fantasies of a bushy fluffy dog, the dog would have long ears, that would swing as he ran, the fluffy fur just allowing fro my hands to disappear to rub his warm belly, but I had 6 cats instead. Daniel’s mom basically ran a zoo, at one time she had 5 dogs, 4 of which were Great Danes. Needless to say, his family, his mom at least, LOVES dogs. Daniel wasn’t keen on the idea of is having our own with the amount of travel we were doing and that potty training was not something he was keen on.
We got a cat, as a compromise. The fluffiest smoky haired beautiful rescue that chose me. We were promised another cat at the rescue, but as we were leaving this little guy came up to me pawing the hem of my skirt and cuddled up with me refusing to leave. The rescue lady decided even though he was promised to someone else, she agreed he belonged with us. So home came Charles (Chuck) Carmichael Zachry, named after the super spy persona of Chuck of the same named tv series. He was a dream, went straight to his litterbox, and that was that as far as potty training went. Daniel caved and we went to get a dog. We were promised a different dog, but this guy howled the sweetest howl at us and the other dog was handed back to the farmer. He was perfect, the most beautiful cocker spaniel, golden and soft with his long ears, so sweet and loving, he was mine, He was my Morgan Carmichael Zachry. He had the biggest round brown eyes like marbles that would melt frigid hearts in a heartbeat. We brought him home and we did everything that we were told, and we read, we did crate training, took him out to potty every 5 seconds etc. Still the unexpected shit show presented. We went to a party and thought he would be sad to be in the cage the whole time, the poor guy, we left his crate door open. We came home and the stench just hit me like a sledgehammer to my face. I tiptoed in, to find watery shit everywhere in the living room AND kitchen. EVERYWHERE. Asshole was calm and collected on the ottoman. You can imagine the days to follow. Took us some years but he was finally potty trained. We started having kids, amazing beautiful creatures, people caution the diaper changing, all the jokes they make about dads having to change diapers, how it would be relentless, sleepless nights changing diapers. Yes cute. I was ready for diaper shits, no problems there. As potty training of our child continued, the cute shit show continued. But it was further dramatized by our pets joining in, like a baby regression. The cat started shitting everywhere, and because the cat shit was around, the dog decided he would join in. Diaper shit, dog shit, cat shit, diaper shit, dog shit, cat shit, until one day… There was a rancid smell around the house and I couldn’t quite find it, so I tiptoed into the playroom to find a weird kind of yellow and brown striped pasty shit in the corner of the playroom. Oh that stench too, What the fuck was that??? I ran upstairs and called Daniel on the phone, “Babe, there’s weird shit in the playroom.”
Daniel is confused,”Who bought it?” He thinks I’m talking about a toy.
“Weird SHIT Daniel, literally SHIT!” I’m so annoyed and freaked out. “Could
a raccoon or possum or something else get in here??” We had a rodent problem at the time, a lot of wildlife lived in the wooded land behind us.
“No, I don’t think so, you sure it’s not the cat or dogs?” He asked “Mommy, I poo poo. Poo poo is brown. Poo poo is stinky” said my 16 month old with her hands covered in shit. “Shit, it’s Elsa, she’s got shit all over her hands. Bye” Click I grabbed her and ran up into her bathroom only to find shit EVERYWHERE. Inexplicably, literally everywhere. It was on the shower curtains, on the side of the tubs, on the flush handle, on the tap.
“Shit” she giggled. She had took a shit in the playroom, then picked it up and walked it up here, which meant there must be a fucking trail of shit on the stairs.Yes, I would find beautiful yellow ochre stripes on the walls too. Then she tried to reach and put it in the toilet and flush and wash hands like I told her, except she missed the shit in the toilet in the first place part. I grabbed cleaning supplies, as I turned around, I see the dog licking shit then did his circle dance and took a shit right there on the carpet. Elsa points and giggles ,”Shit” People talk as if diaper shit is the shit, but let me tell you there is so much more in parenthood, the kind of shit you couldn’t have imagined. Just shit literal and not. There’s no preparation for what is in our future as parents.

Shit happens.