About a week ago I spent the night at Margo’s. Margo’s floors are mostly manufactured planks and HappyDog’s nails ring out like a quartet of medieval blacksmiths on speed. Twice during the night I heard the tings, grabbed the nearby flashlight, escorted her to the back door then returned to pick up the trail of turds. “Do you do this every night?” a sleepy Margo asked.
How can I answer this so she’ll keep HappyDog if I go solo camping. Honesty feels like the best policy. “Pretty much.”
Hey, only twice is a good night. Now Margo knows why I sleep late in the mornings.
I couldn’t let the little surprises sit until morning. Those turds stink. I’m talking imagine hogs on hot peppers, pinto beans and methane gas in a wet basement full of sweaty socks. Chase ya outta the house stench. They could be used by the Army to test biological masks.
Four days ago I realized she hadn’t pooped on the floor all day. Then Day Two came and went plop free. Is she plugged? Nope, had to pick up the back yard. Day Three. What has made this great change? Come on Day Four.
Well, the record is three and a half days.
Grateful for any lull.
Trekking Tess 
Well that’s a nice reprieve. Hope it lasts!
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