Shit Happens

What began as a glorious day quickly turned to shit.
Literally.
I came home and was greeted by that smell. I quickly spotted a diarrhea lake on the carpet, right in front of the fireplace. How cozy. (Because we don’t have enough hardwood floors?)
I sprang into immediate action. First things first. I yelled at Otis and sent him outside. Poor Otis. Getting yelled at, on top of a sick belly.
Hauling a bucket of warm water, I scooped up liquid poop with a washcloth. Gagging all the while. Scoop, rinse, gag, repeat.
The smell. The endless mess. I felt sorry for myself and began to weep.
After 20 minutes, the carpet slowly turned from dark to light brown. Time for Tide. I generously poured it into a bucket of fresh, warm water and aggressively began to suds. Scrubbing furiously at the stain, this was turning into a workout.
The smell wasn’t going away. Neither was the stain. More suds. More liquid.
I dragged in the shop vac from the garage. The vacuum sucked up the suds and immediately began overflowing, spraying diarrhea — and rotten leaves that had never been emptied — over the entire carpet. I started bawling.
I needed help. Time to call the professionals. “You need extraction,” Gary told me. Gary came to the rescue to steam clean, transforming the carpet to stink free.
The next day was a new day. Otis felt better. I felt better. Oh, and the old shop vac had been chucked into the trash.
