Anyone who knows me even a little knows that I am a Crazy Dog Lady. At one point, Martin and I had four dogs. We didn't plan it, they just sort of happened. Kind of like polygamist wives and babies.
There is little doubt that when I die, I will be found by a meter reader, the mailman, or a distant relative charged with looking in on Crazy Cousin Lisa (Hello Brian!) once in a while. I will be prostate on the kitchen floor, a shredded bag of Kibbles & Bits nearby, with all of my limbs ending in bloody stumps, after having been gnawed off by my 18 dogs.
I started today by washing the dingleberries off the Pomeranian's butt to prevent her from wiping her ass on the carpet. The result was five pounds of very pissed off Pom and one very disgusted Crazy Dog Lady. I wish our sink had a spray nozzle, it would have been so much easier.