“I’ve Been Punky’d!”

“Are you kidding me?” What’s a grandmother to do, but laugh and keep on? There is no other way to deal with some things, especially those surprises that keep poking at one’s patience. It had been a busy week already and I certainly was not expecting this. In my own home no less!

It started several days ago, the details complicated like a mass of threads that were, thankfully, untangling one thread at a time. In the midst of all the other chaos, our daughter’s washing machine quietly rebelled, flashing codes that it was plugged, refusing in repeated attempts to unlock its door so we could get the wet things out. No big deal it would seem. Except for the mountains of (three kids’) laundry waiting to be washed. It was a small thing I could do – bring the laundry home and do it for them. Easy. No problem. Then I saw it. With the last load being tossed in the washer, there it lay in the bottom of the tall basket. I’d been Punky’d.

A number of months ago our daughter brought home an adorable wee pup the family named Pumpkin, Punky for short. Not long later another adorable pup was adopted, Leon, and so the dynamics of a household with three school-age children and two cats revved up a couple notches more. The pups were darling, yet a handful. And house training became an ongoing battle. As the dogs grew the issue grew with them, though one pup finally figured out what going outside was all about. While Leon was off to a trainer for awhile, the female dog, though better, had her intermittent issues. I often wondered when Punky would get it together. Maybe now was her turn. Off to the trainer she went yesterday. Please, may potty training finally be mastered!

The children piled all their dirty clothes into two tall baskets. I noticed a definite doggy smell on some of the boys clothes, so double wash pods, with presoak and double rinse set, were tossed in for each load. It was only when I hit the bottom of basket “number two” did I find my prize . . . a neatly formed three inch, mostly dry, doggy-doo not quite smiling at me. Really? After muttering a bit while flushing it immediately down the loo, I could only laugh and conclude, “I’ve been Punky’d!” What else can a grandmother do but wryly tell the story to her husband and daughter, toss the laundry bag liner in the washer, and share the news with you! Just more dew, or this time Punky-doo, under the arbor!

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