Scrubbing - S

I am not what you would consider, by any stretch of the imagination, a clean freak (just a mild germophobe). In most some areas of my life, I am a complete organizational nightmare. And yet on the whole, I keep a 'tidier' house than I was raised in (if you don't check when the last time I swept my tile floors... or like... anything the day before I know company is coming over). Two major things drive that, the desire to improve and having dogs.

I learned early on that there is a certain height (and distance from the edge of a table or counter) things must be kept at if I didn't want the puppy to eat, shred or hump objects into submission. Any issue in this area is 100% human error. Dogs will be dogs, curious silly creatures with a penchant for mischief, also known as a desire to have fun. Having raised only 1 dog from puppyhood to senior citizen, I shudder to think about going back through the chew on everything stage which goes along with the nips at heels to herd you around the house stage. I've found the knock me down, take my wallet and bulk order bacon stage happens at any age, so I've learned to live with it.

What I'm getting at is occasional bouts of tummy troubles aside, my mini-pack of hound dogs actually help me to keep my house 'cleaner'. Or at least presentable on a surface level along with the odd spraying of Febreeze. (No white glove tests, please.)

Until now.

Our oldest dog, the first dog I had as an adult, has cancer and a heart condition (and arthritis, but hell, so do I). He's supposed to have died six months ago. The vet doesn't know what to make of it. I'm pretty sure he, the dog, is so damn stubborn he'll die only when he's good and ready. I was gutted upon seeing the x-ray. I was anxious watching him as the days ticked by. I am grateful to have the time with him. I am unsure as to whether or not I should keep letting him eat whatever he wants just in case it's his last meal. (Here, we've come to an understanding. At least for now. He is bullheaded fickle and this is perhaps a story for another day. Our other dog thinks rotten garbage is the height of gourmet dining, for the record.)

Now I am routinely scrubbing. In my experience, hound dogs puking is nothing new. Our oldest dog has always had a sensitive tummy. He's prone to spitting up bile if he's not fed on time. Our two girl dogs would put anything, literally ANYTHING, in their mouths at least twice. Four times for good measure. Eighteen at least if it tastes right. I have a favorite brand of pet mess cleaner. Enzymatic. Odor neutralizing. I caress it lovingly when I walk past the displays at the pet store.

Puke though, is not so much our elder statesman's issue at this point. Between his slow decline (and make no mistake, cancer or not he's 13+ yrs so there is a slowing down) and his keep-him-comfortable-and-his-heart-beating-properly meds, he finds it more difficult to make it outside in time. It's not an every day thing, but it is weekly to several times a week. The meds give him diarrhea and a frequent need to urinate. The title of the post is scrubbing - TMI should have been understood. What's a little dog poop between bloggers?

I keep the carpet cleaner we have in the hallway for ease of use. It's paid for itself so many times over this year alone. He only has accidents on the two carpeted areas outside of the bedrooms, my office and our front room. I guess he doesn't like the splash back potential from tile. Open plan houses don't make it easy to corral pets who have a problem and baby/dog gates can be a dangerous combo with the older parental folks who live with us. So I shepherd him outside as often as he'll go & I stay up until the wee hours to take him out a few times over night. And I scrub. I scrub when I wake up or I've been out part of the day and my parents didn't hear or see him need to go.

It's not lost on me that this has hallmarks of his first year and trying to potty train him. It's also not lost on me that he has some kind of understanding. He used to be deeply embarrassed to have an accident, even when sick. For more than a decade he hated us watching him poop outside, always going around a tree or bush. Now he wags at me when he sees me clean it up, a kind of 'Hey, thanks for understanding and being cool about it' kind of look in his eyes.

The last few months, he's begun running up to greet me at the door again. Like he did as a spry young 7 year old dog. He's not in pain at this point. His quality of life, accidents aside, is markedly better than it was 6 months ago. He still sleeps a lot, but he's more playful again. I'm not in denial. I know he's not going to suddenly be 10 years younger and in perfect health. I know. I know like humans, some animals have a sudden burst of good health and good days before the end. He could have also died 6 months ago or 10 years ago from a viral infection he had, or from any number of what if's.

But he's here. He seems comfortable and happy and engaged. So I'll keep scrubbing as long as he needs me to. Because that's the deal I made with him 13+ years ago. A ridiculous level of love, affection, companionship, laughter, in exchange for shelter, care, love, belly rubs, food (an ongoing debate over quality continues), and a solemn vow that I will be there with him until the very end. If I can handle a garbage can full of adult diapers, I can easily handle a weekly carpet scrubbing.