Not all heroes wear capes. Sometimes they wear bathrobes.

At 3:38 this morning my dog, Archer, began to whine. This was not his, "I'm bored," whine. This was his, "Please can you take me out right now because if you don't I'm going to make a big mess on the floor," whine. 

I grunted, pushed myself up, and stumbled to find something to cover up my nightgown. I put on my big fluffy bathrobe, because it's not like I'm going to run into anyone at 3:38 on a Monday morning. I grabbed the keys and stumbled outside with Archer. 

Now I'm gonna stop right here and warn you. This trip outside ends in grossness. I kept the description to, what I feel is, a tasteful minimum, but maybe you don't want to read about it. This is your chance to stop reading. You've been warned.

Five feet out of the door he squats and releases the kraken, and by kraken I mean steamy dog poop gravy. It was at this moment that a car load of jovial neighbors pulled in the driveway next to us. Why were they coming in at 3:40am? What kept them out this late? I don't know. What I do know is that Archer just dropped a puddle of liquid stench at the front door of my apartment and I was standing over it in a bathrobe. 

I didn't have a shovel to clean it up. What I did have were small bags that are sold specifically for solid dog poops. With a sigh I knelt down, bag on hand, and scooped up as much of the hot mess as I could (three bags total). 

Once we got back inside, he followed me into the bathroom where I washed my hands. As I scrubbed a distinct odor hit my nose and I immediately looked at the bottom of my shoes. Discovering no brown sauce on them I turned to Archer. 

I can tell you that having a fluffy dog is fantastic nine times out of ten. At this moment I was experiencing the tenth time. I had to get a pair of scissors and pretend I was cutting bubblegum out of a toddlers hair, then I scrubbed off the rest.

After all was said and done, he was clean and feeling better, happy that he didn't bring the family shame by fouling up the hardwood floors. And I was clean, tired, and at peace with the fact that I'd given the neighbors something to talk about. 

We went back to bed. Steven stirred from his sleep and asked what happened. I replied, "Not all heroes wear capes, Steven. Sometimes they wear bathrobes."