Thank you for waking me at 3:00 am to look at the pile of dog diarrhea on the floor. You were already cleaning it up, did you need to be comforted while doing so, because really, was it necessary for me to be woken out of a sound sleep and trudge out to the living room to view the liquidy ooze? Did you need confirmation that it was indeed a pile of runny dog shit and not some alien life form that had slunk into our house to eat your brains? At that moment I was questioning whether your brains had been sucked out of your head because THREE FUCKING AM.
That damn dog eats her own shit and the occassional gopher, so periodic bouts of dog diarrhea are not uncommon, remember? She'd eat your shit right out of the toilet as if it were a gourmet meal if she had the chance. This is why she is not allowed to put her tongue anywhere near my face.
The next time you wake me up at that hour to verify the existence of dog shit on the floor, I might just have to rub your nose in it.
Your loving irritated wife.