If there was ever to be an investigation in our home, I think Jero and I would be arrested. Seriously, our animals are trying to frame us for murder.
Last week, Oz took to eating leaves. Pee leaves to be exact. Not sure why, I Googled it but Google turned out to not be terribly helpful. Said he could be doing it to purposefully throw up, or he could be doing it for attention. Either way, for 48 hours, while I was recovering from bronchitis, I cleaned up massive amounts of vomit off our carpet.
On a side note, I also had to do laundry that day and was forced to go into the basement, where I dropped the fabric softener sheets in a crevice and FISHED THEM OUT MYSELF. I totally rocked that day. I was invincible.
So, after cleaning up doggie stomach contents and only throwing up twice myself, it seemed as if our carpet was saved from the worst of it.
Today, Jero and I were talking about zombie ants, no really they exist. It was in Scientific American, Google it. I would link it, but I haven't learned how to do that yet. I've been too busy cleaning up regurgitated pee leaves.
While having this conversation, Mr. Giles was doing his typical I'm-going-to-prance-in-circles-around-you-until-you-pay-attention-to-me dance. All of a sudden, Jero says, "I think Giles cut his foot." I look around and see a crime scene all around us.
Seriously. Blood. Everywhere.
Dexter would have had a field day.
This may make me a terrible pet owner, but all I could focus on was the fact that the brand new carpet was covered in blood. In my defense, Giles rips his dew claw a few times a year, and though I know it can't feel great for him, it heals and is fine.
As I am scrubbing blood out of the carpet I start to giggle.
Me: If a CSI team ever came in here and sprayed Luminol, we would be arrested.
Jero has the dogs gated into the kitchen and he's trying to get Giles to sit still.
Jero: Giles, hold still, you're going to get AIDS.
Me: How did our kitchen floor get AIDS?
Me: I don't think you know how AIDS works. Which is either a really good or really bad thing for me. Seriously though, we could be arrested if there was ever an investigation.
Jero: I guess we'll have to try and not get investigated for homicide.
Me: I can't always control these things. Especially because I am starting to think the dogs are trying to frame us.
Jero: Why would the dogs want to frame us for murder?
Me: So we wouldn't be here to keep them off the furniture. Duh.
Jero: Makes perfect sense.
Me: Think about it. Blood, stomach contents, feces, urine. It's like a scene from The Walking Dead in here. We need to keep an eye on this situation. Or maybe we should make a preemptive strike and let the police know that *we* are not the criminals in this house.
Jero: Sure, I can imagine that conversation, 'hello, detective, we just wanted to let you know that we are not responsible for any crimes committed in our neighborhood.'
Me: Maybe I shouldn't have cleaned up the evidence. That just screams guilty.
Jero: One day the mailman is going to go missing, we'll just find a boot and some short pants on the lawn.
Me: Exactly! We have to watch our backs.
So, if you ever see us on the news, please will you testify in our defense?
I'm telling you, dogs are sneaky.