I find myself in the unenviable position of feeling lucky if I were to come downstairs in the morning to be greeted by a neat “Mr. Whippy” type dog turd in the middle of the laundry room floor.
Why?
Newly acquired cocker spaniel manages to cover the entire floor in a spaghetti of mini poos punctuated with dollops, then tops it off with a wiggly path of wee to complete the artistic feature making it nigh on impossible to find a clear path to the cupboard that houses the mop and bucket.
If she wasn’t unbelievably cute and heart-warmingly and innocently affectionate her days would be seriously numbered.