Canine Manipulation

My nose told me what my eyes hadn’t seen. There had been an accident. Again.

I set my bags down to assess the damage.

Max came running, tail wagging in delight. One of his humans was home!

Thoughts of his last accident came rushing forth as I stood frozen processing the memory…

I was the first one home that day. Upon seeing dog poop strewn across the floor, I set to work cleaning.

A couple hours later, my husband came home. After a brief conversation, he asked how Max had done that day. I shared there was an accident, but I cleaned it up.

“What did you use?”
“Did you let it set?”
“How did you dry it afterwards?”
“Why is there still a smell?”
His rapid-fire questions felt like an inquisition.

“Why the hell did you clean it like that? You are so dumb! I guess you want to ruin the floor! Next time, wait for me to get home, so I can clean it the right way!”

I agreed. If it happened again- I would wait.

Max’s nudges jolt me to the present. There’s poop on the floor, but I will leave it and let my husband clean it the way he desires. The correct way.

I’m cooking dinner when I hear the front door open, followed by, “Why the hell does it smell like dog crap in here?”

“Max had an accident.”

“And you didn’t clean it up?”

“No, last time you told me to leave it for you because I did it wrong.”

“I never said that, you liar! I’ve been working all day and I come home and gotta clean up dog crap! Ridiculous! You don’t even work as hard, you’ve already been home, and you let it sit here and stink up the place! You are worthless!”

“Last time you said I did it wrong. You told me not to clean it!”

“So, you’re lazy AND you lie. Figures! I’ll clean it myself since your lazy self can’t be bothered.”

I turn to the burning dinner on the stove. Tears fall as I close my eyes and attempt to wrap my head around the conversation.

I know what he said. I know I’m not crazy. I know I’m not imagining entire conversations, but yet- he never remembers what he says, and somehow - I’m always wrong.