I love my fur babies. I really do. Dog-food-commercial-romping-through-the-fields-in-slow-motion love them. Then, there are the times that they earn the well-deserved stink eye from yours truly, met by apologetic belly-baring floor poses (you know the ones.) Today was one of those days. Enter my tiny terrorist, Daisy.
Normally, I get to sleep in til about 7 am or so before bone-shaped tags chime and the mattress shakes. The odds were not ever in my favor today, for somewhere in the fifth hour I woke up to the lovely, gutteral sounds of...
"gloop, gloop, gloop..."
Wait, is that sound of a puppy lapping up water? Did they jump off the bed for a sip of water? No. It's not. It's the precursor to the bobbing head, and the "splat" on the floor (if you're lucky). So, did my groggy and pillow-creased self feel lucky at 5 something in the morning today? No, because you and I both knew what was in store for me.
Only that I didn't, because Daisy was sitting next to me...in the second round of the "glooping." Why hello there nice, little, wet and dark puddle between us! Fffuuuuuuug me. I instinctively grabbed her and ran to the bathroom and sat her next to the sink. She blinked up at me, confused. Crazy Daisy. Oh the frustrating irony.
I head back to bed, with Daisy tucked under my arm, and remove the soiled blanket. Too tired to think, I throw it on the floor and fall back asleep. An hour later...
"Gloop, gloop, gloop..."
I sit up in bed, grab her, and (cursing this God forsaken hour) hold her head over the edge of the bed and, expecting to hear a splat, I look down and noticed she has an even larger puddle on the jeans I forgot I sleepily threw on the floor at 1 am.
Ffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuggggggggg. My favorite ones!
At this point I give up on sleep and give her a bath and blow-dry. Followed by, oh joy, a second bath and a second blow-dry only an hour later. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed dawn shows up ready to shine, and I've already given two dog baths to the same 6-pounder. Lovely.
And Daisy? Well, you ask her.
