The Losing, Lovable Battle Against Muddy Paws

This morning, Copper came in and left four little prints across our kitchen floor… He’s a spaniel, not even that big, but the mud, just dark mud, and little flower like prints towards the water bowl.

I had just mopped yesterday!

I stood there, dish towel in hand, staring. She looked up at me with his soft, greying face, completely unbothered. He had no idea he’d done anything wrong. To him, the yard was just the yard, and the kitchen was just the kitchen. No pause at the door, no guilty expression, just a mud fest as his playground.

I sighed. I got the mop back out.

This has happened what, 3, 4 times? I lose count. We live in Northern California. All of our seasons are currently just a muddy season, and there’s a muddy pawed spaniel in the house who’s never once wiped his paws before coming inside.

I tried the towel at the door, I tried catching him… before he gets too far. He shakes off the little boot things like they’ve personally offended him to get mud all over the house.

None of it works. The mud always wins.

I used to get this feeling every time I had to clean. It isn’t the angry feeling where you know you aren’t going to enjoy cleaning it again. It’s more of a sad, negative feeling where you just know that you have ten more minutes of cleaning in your future. It kind of feels like you’re failing because you just can’t keep the mess out of your home.

At some point, I realized that I didn’t have to keep cleaning up the mess every time it happened.

It’s hard to imagine how I used to feel about those paw prints. Now, I remember that Copper was outside and having a great time. He hasn’t been able to move around as much, which can be frustrating for him. He’s still able to visit his favorite spots in the yard, and he loves to go poke around and investigate the fence line as well.

Just because he’s still enjoying himself out there, doesn’t mean we aren’t going to have a mess of paw prints to clean up.

I look at the people I know who have homes that are clean and organized. I can appreciate it, but I know that I will never have a clean and organized home as long as I have pets. I know that there will be clean and organized homes around me, and I will always have pets to add to the mess. I’ve made peace with that.

It feels good in a way, and frankly kind of rewarding. It is like this mess is evidence of people being here. I like knowing that this house means something to Copper and Juniper too. I like knowing they have their own take on the space, and leave their own special marks on the place in places I don’t direct.

When I finish mopping, and pack up the rest of my stuff, I have a chance to see Copper, who has made himself comfy in the corner. Strangely, he’s got some dirt on one of his paw’s, but that’s fine. The clean floor can wait.

Rain is looking like a certainty again. That means muddy dogs and another mop session for me.

This is the reality of most dog owners lives. Not the idealistic version where the house always looks clean, and there aren’t any messes. It’s the version where the love is in the messes, and the time spent cleaning them is almost endless and frustrating.