(WARNING: Gross material ahead. May not be suitable for all audiences.)

The story, as Greg relayed it to me went something like this:

Surrounded by walls of snow double the height of her, we cleared a small area on the porch where Sookie’s training pads are for her to use the bathroom. On Sunday morning, after finishing her business, Greg grabbed some toilet paper to bring it in and flush it down the toilet. (Our poop receptacle and pooper scoop were long buried at this point. Plus, it was more eco-friendly.)

Unfortunately, with all the water tracked in and out near the door, Greg lost his footing as he came in, skidding across the hardwood and sending poop flying into the air for a brief moment before it fell back down and landed neatly on three different levels of our leaning bookshelves next to some small decorative items, as if that was where it was meant to be.

I lament that I only got to hear this secondhand; I was asleep through all this. However, my vision of what this cartoon-like scenario must have looked like in my head is probably better for it.