Tag Archives: toilet

10/18/15 Take A Leak, or I See Spot

Mom looked up and noticed a Spot on the ceiling in the kitchen. This was a couple of weeks ago. Mom wasn’t sure about the Spot, so she painted over it.

The Spot came back with a vengeance.

Mom told Dad she thought the upstairs toilet was leaking. Dad said, “Impossible” because he had just fixed the toilet.

The Spot got worse. Mom started to worry.

She said, “I think the toilet is leaking. It’s probably not the flush mechanism you fixed, it’s probably the wax ring underneath.” Dad said, “It’s probably the shower. I’ll look at it.”

So another week went by. The Spot began to look like a large bruise on the cheek of the ceiling.

Mom said, “We are going to get mold in here. And someone is going to sit down on that toilet and fall right through the ceiling!”

Mind you, nothing – nothing – gets done around here unless there are dire consequences to contend with. I guess the idea of sitting on the throne and then finding himself on the first floor kitchen in a compromised state shook Dad out of his “Spot” complacency. He and Jamie went to Menard’s to look for Stuff to Fix the Toilet. When they came home, Dad said he wanted “just to check the score” of the ballgame. Mom said, “That’s how a five-minute job turns into a five-hour job. I’ll check the score for you and let you know what’s up. Turn off that TV.”

Defeated, Dad went to work disconnecting the toilet and replacing the seal.

It looked something like this:


Disgusting dead toilet!

Anyway, things went along pretty smoothly, even though Dad’s team lost the ball game.

Mom helped Dad clean up the wax residue and then they installed the new seal. Dad managed to squeeze in on the floor between the toilet and the toilet paper roller-thingy. Delighted to see Dad on the tiles, I jumped on his chest and started licking his face. I’m sure my moral support helped a lot, because he got that toilet fixed “lickety-split”!!!

Mom came downstairs and painted over the Spot on the ceiling with some mold killer. Now the Spot is white. Dad says we are going to watch it for a day or two to make sure there is no more leaking; then Mom will repaint the Spot to the proper color.

What a way to “seal” the weekend!

Woof! Your little Plumber’s Helper, Maggie


8/25/15 The Toilet Seat


We had a situation with the downstairs toilet seat. A Certain Person (named Jamie) broke the seat and sheared the screw right off! Mom alerted Dad that an emergency visit to the home repair shop was in order to prevent a one-cheek-sneak off the broken seat.

Dad had a customer. “I’m very sorry to cut this short. My wife and I have a big night out choosing a new toilet seat,” he explained. The customer laughed, and hurried with his purchase.

Erik thought Dad would be mad about the broken toilet seat, and was going to take the blame for it. But Dad actually took it in stride, because he hadn’t liked the downstairs seat at all. Jamie said he was just taking after big brother Mike, who “dropped a brick” in the upstairs toity and broke it a couple of years ago. Dad replaced that entire toilet with a Titan (“Can flush a bucket of golf balls!”) So far, the Titan is still standing tall and proud.

Off the human parents went. I wandered downstairs where Erik, Jamie, and Jenny were watching a movie. Erik’s bedroom door was open, so I curled up in the bed and took a little nap.

Mom and Dad came home shortly thereafter and Dad announced, “I’m not installing this toilet seat tonight.” I thought for a minute that Mom was going to bop Dad over the head with the new seat. “What do you mean? What if someone has to use the toilet in the middle of the night and there’s an accident?” Mom fumed. I wondered what kind of “accident” there could possibly be in relation to a toilet seat, but given Mom’s excited state, decided to keep my muzzle shut!


Me, watching them bring in the toilet seat.

Every male member of the household trooped into the tiny downstairs bathroom to “help” Dad. Dad needed lots of helpers, even though he had told Mom it was a one-man job. Mom brought Dad a garbage bag and placed it on the sink. Not five minutes later, Dad was hollering for one. Mom gave him the stink eye, but said nothing.

Everyone had a little job: One to hold the screws, one to get the paper towels, one to stuff the trash bag, and so forth (they took turns with these tasks).

When it was finally over, the toilet was as good as new. Everyone trooped out of the cramped bathroom and left Mom the dirty paper towels on the floor to clean up.

Well, you know what they say about a job not being finished til the paperwork is done!

Woof! Love, Maggie

12/21/14 The Hairy Terror

I’ve had an action-packed couple of days.

Besides the Marathon Cookie Bake, the toilet broke. Mom called Dad, freaking out that the water was running and running and running. Now, Mom has been after Dad for quite some time about the leaks in the toilet. But this time, the dam broke and the water flowed freely in the bowl with a loud flushing, rushing sound. Dad knew this would be costly in terms of the water bill, so he actually went into action and – pardon me if I use the “F” word – fixed something.

Dad on the ground was more than I could bear. The sight of him lying there with his head wedged between the wall and the toilet provided me with the flashmob opportunity of a lifetime. When Dad started hollering, in earnest, “Maggie, OFF!” Mom sprang into action, dragged me into the kitchen, and gave me The Look.

I couldn’t help it. When Dad said, “Get the paper towels” I took him literally:


Dad got the toilet fixed, but I had the Hairy Bullet mentality and I had it bad. So the next day (today), Mom and Dad had an afternoon appointment with some old friends. That left me and my nemesis, Jamie, alone in the house. I quickly turned into my secret identity, The Hairy Bullet.

While Jamie attempted to slip unobtrusively into the garage to get a can of soda pop, I darted through the sweet spot, nearly knocking him flat. Then I sniffed around the various piles of skateboards and junk until he pulled me into the house.


Feeling peevish that I was thwarted in my garage escapades, I snatched one of Jamie’s shoes that he had placed next to the back door. I ran upstairs in full bolt mode, and while chasing me, Jamie fell flat on his face. I was doing the typical terrier move of swinging the shoe around with my head, and I bashed Jamie on the side of his face, next to his eyebrow. I gave him a little black eye, but he put some ice on it and was OK. I, however, was summarily tossed in the crate and there I stay for quite some time.

When Jamie let me out to go to the potty, I dashed into the dining room, ears flat against my head, and grabbed up a gift that had been foolishly left on the floor (in a corner, next to the fish tank, supposedly where I could not get at them) and ripped the bow off the large box, and tore open the small box. Sailing past Jamie into the living room, I whipped Mom’s good Christmas fleece blanket off the couch and chewed a hole in the corner before Jamie could stop me.


Mom and Dad came home and I got a good berating and many scowls. No treat for me!

Mom says I do not behave for Jamie and the next time, she is going to crate me, so he doesn’t get another black eye from my Hairy Terror activities.

I guess I’m done for today. Tomorrow is another day!

Woof! Love, Maggie