It’s a problem that dates back several generations... unloading the dishwasher.
I remember my mom getting her first dishwasher back in the 1970s — it was harvest gold and had a butcher block top. We had to roll it across the kitchen and hook it to the sink for each use.
Over time she upgraded to a built-in olive green model before eventually landing on black.
My brother, sister and I were assigned the duty of unloading the dishwasher as part of our chore list. Two of us would stack the cleaned items on the counter, while the other would stand on the counter to put the cleaned dinnerware away in the cupboard.
At first, when it was new, we didn’t mind it at all. But I’m quite certain that wore thin and eventually the complaining commenced. And speaking only for myself, it continues to this day.
It’s not exactly a complaint and it isn’t the routine of unloading the dishwasher, which literally may take all of three minutes to do. It’s just one of those chores that has to be done. And I’m usually the one to do it.
I’m not bad-mouthing my hubby, because I’ll be honest... I can’t tell you the last time I cleaned out the cat’s litter box. That’s just one of those chores he does.
Isn’t that how it goes? We all fall into certain routines and kind of ‘self-appoint’ certain duties to ourselves.
I tend to be a bit of a neat-freak when it comes to the condition of my house. It’s a ‘thing’ with me. I’m just a person who like order, organization and routine. So it may surprise some to know I have a small herd of more than 200 pounds of pooches at home.
Anyone who’s read my columns the past few years may remember I have three dogs living at my house – actually IN my house – and I don’t know three dogs with a better gig. There’s Aspen, our golden retriever with a thyroid condition; Cricket, our Jack Russell/rat terrier who protects our backyard from squirrels, squinnies, mice, moles and rabbits; and Belle the bloodhound. And I thought living with three kids was messy? (Don’t know what a squinny is? Well, let me welcome you to central-Iowa! It’s just a local name for a 13-lined ground squirrel.)
Our living room often looks like a dinosaur skeleton collapsed on the floor, with all the girls’ chew bones scattered around. Their favorites though are the squeaky toys, and I replenish their supply every month or so – once the squeakers are squeaked out, which is why we have not one but two toy boxes for the girls.
Our Belle the bloodhound is a very sweet, lovable girl. She’s quiet, she’s timid, her favorite place is her bed in our bedroom and she loves to be outdoors. But if your only knowledge of a bloodhound is from the front porch on “Hee Haw” or Disney’s “Fox and the Hound,” let me share some first hand experience about actually living with this particular breed — they drool. They drool a lot. And when they shake, they fling goobers everywhere.
We routinely clean windows, TV screens, table tops, woodwork and walls. Let me add, nothing wakes a person faster than having a Belle loogy flung across the room and smack you in the face at 4:45 a.m.
Since it was Mick’s bright idea to bring 2-year-old Belle in to our home a few years ago (without any sort of prior conversation with me), cleaning the Belle drool is generally one of those ‘self-appointed’ chores he just takes responsibility for. (Not to mention my occasional smart-mouth comment “Well, YOU wanted a bloodhound!”)
But the other day, I thought he had let the walls get a bit ahead of him, so I had to give him a little nudge to get them cleaned off.
The next thing I know, Mick has his electric car waxer/polisher out, buffing his way down the halls, on the doors, up the staircase and on the woodwork. I’m going say, he’s on to something there! My walls looked spectacular.
That is... until Belle woke up.
Contact Dana King at firstname.lastname@example.org