towels

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It rained yesterday.  Hallelujah!  Praise be to the rain gods.

Even in the normal scheme of things, this is a big deal to us desert dwellers.  When looking at the big picture, New Mexico needs every drop of water we can get.  Based on what I saw in the rain gauge, I’m guessing we probably had just under two inches of rain.   Rain is good.

Yesterday’s rain was one of those rains we call a “good rain.”  A steady fall of moisture, spread out over several hours, allowing the parched soil the ability to soak it all up.  This storm also brought a good-sized dump of snow up in the higher elevations.  It’s always to good have an early snow pack.  Snow is good.

What is not so good is mud.  Yesterday’s rain also brought muddy roads, muddy shoes, muddy pants, and muddy towels.  It brought muddy couches, muddy bed spreads, muddy rugs and muddy towels. But what it really brought was muddy dogs, muddy paws, muddy floors and muddy towels.  Shoes, towels, pants, towels, couches, towels, bed spreads, towels, rugs, towels, dogs, towels, paws, towels, floors and towels being the optimum words.

So, let me set the scene….

Yesterday was Wednesday and Wednesday is cleaning day. The one day of the week my house is actually clean.  Not just picked up or straightened up, but mop n’ glowed clean.  Walk in the door after work and smell Pine Sol clean. Tables are pledged, dressers are dusted, tubs are scrubbed. With a house full of dogs, having a clean abode is a novelty, cuz it doesn’t happen but once a week.  For only a few hours.  Max.  Come Thursday morning, we’re back to status quo.

Our house cleaner, who is my designated house-cleaning goddess, I mean, I worship that girl, is busy doing her magic.  Malcolm is charged with keeping the dogs out of her way while she is whipping the house in shape. As the storm is sending it’s drops of water, she is mopping the brick floors. The dogs, whom had been out in the pen loving the brisk weather, decided to come in from out of the rain.  Smart dogs, but obviously not smart enough. Dolce and Amore came inside wet, muddy, happy.  My wonderful house-cleaner, not so much – happy that is.

wet dog

wet dog

The girls didn’t have sense enough to come inside before the rain started, before they wallowed in the mud and before they were nothing but wet dog.  A wet, muddy dog does not a happy house cleaner make.  My house-cleaning goddess was not happy.  At all.

Dolce and Amore had trooped in ooey, gooey mud from one end of the house to the other as they searched for Malcolm. On the what was once a Pine Sol cleaned floor.  That had been just mopped.  By my now upset house-cleaner.  Muddy paw prints now  dotted the brick floor from the master bedroom to the office in the back of the house.  Muddy paw prints now decorated the cream colored couch.  Muddy paw prints were now everywhere.

I came home to three huge piles of wet, muddy towels. There were towels still spread out on the bricks to absorb the uck and muck brought in by Dolce and Amore. Towels used to clean up after our wet canine heathens. Towels used to wipe muddy paws.  Towels used to fluff dry the dogs.  Towels used to mop up the floors and clean off the couches.  Towels were stacked up in the laundry room waiting their turn in the wash. Towels everywhere.  All dirty.  All wet.

Malcolm is on his fourth load of laundry.  I’m hoping my house-cleaning hero returns next week.

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