The soup was hot and chicken and on the stove. . . .

October 7, 2011

October 7, 2011

Tired.

This morning I am tired.

And it's all Frankie's fault.

Last weekend, I bought a lovely, whole chicken from Victory.

I love chicken, and nothing is better than roast chicken and baked potatoes when the high for the day is hovering around 10 degrees.

Fresh, yellow beans as a delicious accompanying side.

Of course, any woman worth her salt knows that taking the rack of the chicken, post-consumption, and boiling it for chicken soup is the only decent thing to do when such a situation presents itself.

So I did.

A medley of carrots, celery, onions, chicken and alphabet shaped pasta.

And the result was a warm, delicious homemade chicken soup enough for one supper and several lunches.

I love my dogs.

And they love a ladle full of Mummy's homemade chicken soup mixed in with their kibble.

Unfortunately, the ladle full of soup, while a wonderful means of bringing the dogs into our soup filled world, didn't have the desired outcome.

But it did have an outcome.

Because out came a pile of warm, soft dog shit on my bedroom floor just beside the litter box.

Another foot to the right and it would have been in there ready for the pooper scooper.

Rather than me getting out of bed at 2.20 in the morning to the most putrid stench permeating the previously clean, cool air inhabiting our room.

Putrid actually doesn't even come close.

Before I could even clean it up I had to take the two of them out, because you can't take one out without the other, in order to ensure that there wasn't any more bowel detritus lying in wait for me.

Returning into the house to be greeted by an equally tired Stephen bearing a biodegradable poop bag and a container of Lysol wipes.

I did the best I could with what I had, and ended the cleaning process with piling Lysol wipes onto the remnants of the pile in an effort to mute the mild stench that continued to linger in the air.

While Stephen opened the window thinking the frigid night air would help.

All it did was suspend the stench particles.

So he turned the fan on and dispersed the suspended stench particles.

At that point, I didn't care.

I was tired enough to sleep through the lingering stench.

As was Stephen.

Although he could sleep through just about anything.

And has.









After observing Frankie during his breakfast shenanigans, I came to the conclusion that it may not have been my soup that caused Frankie to become such a loosie goosie.

Apparently, he has developed an ingenious and creative system for getting into the garbage.

Using his snout, he lifts the lid of the garbage can and inserts his head into the garbage can to enjoy whatever treats he figures are in there, waiting for him.

And from what I can see, he's been doing this undetected for quite some time.

Which explains incidents like last night.

I hope.

Because I am running out of explanations for his need to dump in my bedroom in the middle of the night.









Emily called me at lunch time yesterday, as she always does.

However, it was the first time she ever called to say that after I was finished teaching my last class, meaning 5.30, could we take a few minutes and go to Jinglers.

The used clothing store.

The one I frequent as it is one of the few places I can purchase affordable clothing.

Not that there aren't other places I could shop for clothing.

I just can't afford them.

So for Emily, who shops exclusively at expensive boutique clothing stores, this was quite a shock.

And then she explained the reasoning behind her request.

Denim day at the high school.

And she needed a denim shirt to wear with denim pants.

So off we went.

I found three shirts, a sweater and a pair of jeans.

For $11.00.

Who couldn't be excited by that.

Really.



Title Lyric: The Soup by Regina Spektor