Normally, I try to exercise at least 50 minutes, and usually close to 90. Tonight, though, I had to cut it short.
I wasn't sore, I wasn't tired, I wasn't out of steam.
I had just started to work up a sweat on the exercise bike, when I discovered a little surprise.
Sometime between Monday night and this morning, one of the dogs must have lifted his leg on the basket of clean laundry in the utility room. It had dried on the t-shirt I was wearing, the same one that now reeked of rehydrated dog piss.
I thought I was crazy, or that it was just my body chemistry, but I went down to my locker and grabbed my spare shirt. Lo and behold, that one has a faint whiff of urine as well.
I got home and checked the area around the basket. Fucking little goat-dog must have caught the edge, because there was a few dried drops on the handle, and a telltale yellowish stain on one of my white shirts. I know which pisser it was; Edison can't lift his leg that high, so it must have been Kacey, the amazing shit monster.
I am now running all of those clothes through the wash again, and the door to the utility room is now being kept closed at night.