I have a toilet dog not a toilet duck

Well, ok, she's not just mine, she's Tony's too, and Gilly, our jack russell, does not really clean the toilet like toilet duck would (ugh, what would that entail - licking the loo??), but she's still my little toilet dog.

Our home office is basically at the back end of the house; one can walk through the garage in the front to get to it, or come through from our bedroom. If taking the "through the garage" route, from the front of the house, then one would pass the loo on the right just before stumbling up a step into our office. Close to the loo door, on the left, is the door to our bedroom.

There are another two loos in the house (we live at my parents' for now), but you know how it goes, busy on the computer, needing to get just that one last sentence typed, or link saved, or email sent off, and then I suddenly need to dash off to relieve my bladder (lots of cola and coffee, hm, yeah, I know, not good) - so I'm really grateful the loo is like just about right there.

I kinda shove the door just about closed and then proceed to "do my thing" and before I know it, "creak, creak" the door is gently shoved open, and in rambles Gilly. She looks up at me, I say "hello toilet dog," I pick her up, give her a cuddle, set her down, and off she toddles again.

I mean, she can be like fast asleep - and she sleeps "good" - twitches and tweaks (?) in her sleep, and runs after hadedas in the fields in her dreams - and moans with disappointment when they fly off before she can catch them, - but the second I'm in the loo, there she is, wide awake, my beautiful little toilet dog.

© copyright Teresa Schultz 2010