It was Friday, and I was frantically getting the house ready for guests. Earlier, I had prepared my traditional Oktoberfest dinner — pork and smoked sausage, cooked with sauerkraut, apples, cloves and onions — and thrown it in the Crock Pot. Now I was dashing through the upstairs in a whirlwind of lemon Pledge and squeaky blue Windex.
At the top of the stairs, I paused. I caught a whiff of something … nasty wafting from downstairs.
“Coltrane!” I hollered at the dog. “Did you poop in my house? I can’t believe you pooped in my house, again. Dumb dog.”
I dashed down the stairs, expecting a fresh and steaming pile to be sitting at the bottom. But … the carpet was clean. I peeked around the far side of the dining room table. Nothing.
But that … smell. I could still smell that … nasty, nasty smell.
I ran back upstairs to check the bathroom, sure that I would find the source of the smell hidden there. But the bathroom was clean, too.
I followed my nose downstairs and into the kitchen, where dinner was bubbling in the Crock Pot. The pungent scent of sauerkraut seeped out from under its lid and mingled with the odor of ammonia from the glass cleaner, together creating … nastiness.
It’s a bad sign when dinner and a clean house smell an awful lot like dog poo.