The youngest Yorkie had a case of the trots yesterday. When I saw her on the floor last night by the side of the bed, I figured she had heard a noise and jumped down. When I got up this morning however, I realized a toilet 911 had transpired, the remains of which were on my off-white carpet (which was really off off-white at this point in time).
As if that wasn't bad enough, apparently ol' pudding pants had attempted to make her way under the blankets, scootching head first, her butt against my pillow for a little leverage. I didn't find out until today about the graffiti she left behind on my pillow case.
Thinking back, I vaguely remember asking myself if something smelled a little stinky last night. But I just chalked it up to a little Yorkie gas and went back to sleep.