Last night, we were all up at 1 am – again. Our little Dalmatian has had some stomach issues for the last several days.

To his and our dismay, he didn’t make it to the door to be let out … and the proof in the pudding was all over the hallway floor.

As I sat there with paper towels and disinfectant, cleaned up the mess, and pondered which doctor to consult for help, I could tell my husband had 'dropped.'

It was late, and he was tired and had a hectic week at work. So it was surprising, but not surprising, when the man who is usually so loving to me and the dogs turned into a poo-poo, too. 💩

I won’t go into much detail, but annoyance was involved. Critical comments and impossible demands were made, including reprimanding the dog for something he couldn’t control.

You get the picture.

Despite my exhaustion, I was lucky enough to understand what was happening. I could feel compassion rising within me – for my husband and that he had 'dropped,' for myself that I was the subject of hi...