Georgia, oh Georgia

My Hubby had to leave extremely early for work this morning.  Early to the tune of 4:30am.

My sweet love let the dogs out, and fed them.  Since we have a hard and fast rule that the dogs have to go back in the crate if no one else is up (the dogs will find someone and wake them), he crated them.

I woke to my alarm at 6:30am.  The house was dark and I turned to smack Hubby and tell him it was time for him to go.  He wasn't there.  It took me a Monday morning minute to realize it was time to get up.  I woke my middle school bus riding son, and headed down the stairs.

I stopped.

I smelled.

There was doo in the house.  My sense of smell is far superior to anyone else is our house, and I could smell it.  It punched me square in the face at 6:35 in the morning.

I approached the dog crates, and saw Georgia with puke out the front of her crate.  I saw sh*t crammed against the sides.  Some fell out on the wall.

This, is Georgia.

I opened the crates, and as Georgia ran out (surprising clean) more fecal matter tumbled out of the crate after her.  And then I kind of threw up in my mouth.

I'll spare you the details of the cleaning.  I'll just tell you Georgia is in the market for a new doggie bed. 

Happy Monday to me.  I need a Starbucks and it's just after 7am.  I'm thinking I'll tie my coffee in with some Christmas shopping to really put out these flames.