Seriously?

Today, having just gotten home from doing client visits I was tired and wanting to read a book, but still had a bunch of phone calls to do.  So as usual I bribed myself with 15 minutes of reading now and a promise of hours of reading later.  When I got up from my illicit fifteen minutes of reading in the bedroom and went out into the living room what met my eyes but a veritable flood of water inching across the dining room floor towards my feet.  Yes, this is my life and I don’t even have kids yet.  Oh boy! 

The source: Oliver’s water bowl.  

 Notice the lack of any water in it?  Yeah. 

Now there are a couple very good explanations for a situation like this which have happened before:  

1.)    Oliver got too excited jumping around and landed his big paws on the side of the bowl, tipping it and dousing him and any unsuspecting creatures near him.  But, as neither of the Little Girls was wet and neither was Oliver, I ruled this one out.  

2.)    Lilly, feeling that the conventional way of drinking water by putting only her head in the bowl is boring, stepped into the bowl to simultaneously cool her feet and get a drink. Oliver’s water bowl is big enough she uses it as her own personal swimming pool in the summer.  True story.  When she steps out she tracks water all over the floor.  Pomeranian fur is amazingly absorbent. But seeing, as I said, that none of the dogs were really wet and frankly Lilly couldn’t displace that much water if she did a cannon ball, I ruled this one out too.  

3.)    Oliver chased one of the cats through the dish.  As I didn’t hear a commotion and all the cats were also dry (and disgruntled by me waking them up from their naps to feel their fur for dampness), I ruled this one out too. 

Then I noticed that there was a lot of water, and I mean a lot, dripping from Oliver’s mouth.  He drools, I’ll admit that. 

 

I tried to get a picture of him drooling.... 

And tried...

And failed...

And failed... 

But anyways, the water dripping from Oliver's mouth was far more than drool.  I looked closer.  Oliver waggled his whole body.  I stepped closer.  Oliver lifted his snout to be petted.  Water fell on my toes.  I said “Gross!”  Oliver looked offended.  And then I saw the slightest bit of Ducky-fur in Oliver’s mouth.  Apparently, soaking wet, his favorite decimated toy Ducky shrinks and can fit fully in Oliver’s mouth. “Drop it,” I said.  Oliver dropped it. 

With a wet splat Ducky-remnants landed at my feet.  Now there’s an image.  Splat is such an evocative word, don’t you think?

Best I can figure Ducky somehow got dropped in Oliver’s water bowl and was then gallantly rescued by my big mutt who proceeded to wring Ducky out all over the house.  I found a puddle on the couch.  I found wet footprints in the kitchen.  I found a small pond in front of the baby gate to the back bedrooms where Oliver watches the forbidden kitties.  He had even christened the seat of my kitchen chair with water.   The seat where I was about to sit down and commence working again. 

This is when my mantra comes in handy. 

I love my dogs. I love my dogs. I love my dogs.  

I also need more old towels…