Trust me. You don’t want to know.
But I can tell you this.
1/2 a can of resolve and entire bottle of Febreze later, and we may be able to stay in the house w/out chuking into the crappy bathroom as a family.
The cats think the dog is possessed by Satan.
And we’ve got two extra loads of laundry to do,
And no clean towels in the house.
Every room in the house has a big stinky, chemical treated wet spot SOMEWHERE.
And I know that in an extreme pinch, the big kids will pick up a towel and a stray bottle of chemicals and attack gooey macnastyness without flinching, whining or bitching.
I also know that in extreme measures, Mate will okay a big food takeout just so no one has to smell food cooking.
Because after some things, the smell of food cooking is positively heinous.
But we all have to eat.
Oh yeah– I can tell you that the vet called and is pleased to say that the dog has pancreatitis, and that we may go broke treating her.
It’s a good thing Mate was going to cash in some stock so I could publish Rampant, because the dog may make it through Christmas. *sigh*
