It's one thing to step in dog shit when I'm walking around our back yard. Icky, hell yes, but not that big of a deal. I pay attention or end up wiping my shoes.
But in the house? When my feet are bare? No and no. Wait. Make that No and Hell No. I'm not accustomed to it nor do I wish to become accustomed to it. Yet that very thing happened this morning. I stepped just right, too; it squished up between my toes. A flurry of four letter words ensued. Directed at myself.
Our dogs do not make a habit of defecating in the house. It's unacceptable canine behavior and they know it.
Or I should say they used to know it. Dudley still does. But Cosine is getting senile. All the other signs and symptoms worsening over the past months hadn't yet convinced me.
But poo between my toes? Well. That's a sure sign of something.