The girls and I came home from a hike in the wash, the other day, and even though it wasn’t hot, they were thirsty. I usually carry a hydration pack, and they are adept at drinking from the nipple, (yes, we all share the same nipple) but this hike was short so I had left the cumbersome pack behind.
Hoping to prevent a swamp around the indoor water bucket, I encouraged them to drink before we came in the house. But, of course, one stop at the fountain wasn’t sufficient to slake their thirst, and they topped off in the kitchen. My partner BikeMike, a most skillful grumbler, griper, grouser, and growler, began a tirade about the mess. Now, before you take his side in this earth-shattering debate, let me plead my case.
When said partner first joined my pack, we were just me and the love of my life, Studley Dude (a Maine Coon cat who seemed half cat, half dog), and a couple of other cats who had adopted me as their staff. He was informed that should he have any idea of being higher in the household hierarchy than Studley Dude, he might as well not move in. He readily agreed, being as how he had already developed more affection for my cats than for me, and like them, saw me more as staff than was warranted by my opinion that I was the pack leader.
But I digress. Shortly after settling in, he installed a dishwasher and a new kitchen floor, white, ceramic tile. I know you’re asking who would put white tile anywhere, much less on a kitchen floor?! But I wanted to have a CLEAN kitchen. About ten years later, I decided that clean was highly overrated. So, when we remodeled, I chose a dirt colored floor. Aside from vacuuming up the dog hair, it requires no maintenance. I’m only half kidding. It gets cleaned around the water bucket about twice a day! But seriously, the two dogs clean up anything that’s spilled on the floor and the vacuum gets the rest. As a matter of fact, since we got dogs, the dishwasher is almost superfluous.