Vanity Fairest

Last night at the park, another dog peed on Molly. I didn’t see it happening, but suddenly this guy was looking around nervously, tearing up grass and putting it on Molly’s leg. Next thing you know, he’s long gone and my dog’s trotting around with neon yellow splattered on her hind legs. Completely unfazed, of course.

I threw my back out earlier this week — bending down to turn off the fan that Rob and I cannot sleep without — which puts me out of commission for yoga for a good week. Bathing the dog — inevitably a leaning, heaving, sopping, sloshing endeavor — is out of the question.

Most people would go to their husband for this kind of thing — but that’s out of the question, too. I am, after all, a single dog mom.

So I was left with no alternative but to give her a sponge bath, to try to sanitize the, erm, pee spots. I used water and rubbing alcohol, so I wouldn’t have to worry about rinsing.

Molly was not a happy camper.