I have a confession to make. I'm a really lousy housekeeper. And no. I don't mean it like most women say it. Most women say "Oh, the house is just filthy" and go on and on about how "awful" it is in a insipid, simpering way. Then you walk in their house and you're blinded by gleaming surfaces and perfect paint jobs.
I'm not one of those women. Really. I decided long ago to embrace being a bad housekeeper. If that means I rarely have company over, so be it. I'm clean, my clothes are clean, the dogs are clean and the dishes get done. What more do you want!
I'm also really bad about picking up the dog yard. It's a pretty good sized yard, and in the summer mother nature takes care of the messes pretty well. I have a dog door in my basement, and the dogs let themselves out and well, life is good.
Now Viva is pica. If you don't know what that means, it means that she eats things. In her case, cloth. Anything she can get ahold of. It's gotten worse through the years. So now all blankets, coverlets, and throws will be eaten. And digested. She's getting old, her bones hurt some, and I don't like leaving her in a bare crate--but it's that or have her eat whatever bedding I put in there. And at night, she eats anything I leave on the couch, down to the cushions.
Cala isn't as bad, though she too will indulge in some cloth eating. But woe betide the stuffed toy, which gets devoured with relish.
And of course everything that goes in must come out. Which is why I looked out my kitchen window the other day and realized my back yard looked like an explosion at a carpet factory. It's been a bad winter, which has meant Viva doesn't take a step into the yard she doesn't have to--so the effect was especially bad nearer the house. And I've got a guy coming to Mow. So there I was last night, picking up poop. And more poop, and lots and lots of poop-impregnated-with-cloth. Not fun. But my yard looks much better today!
Except I looked out there the other day and it looked like an explosion at a carpet factory