Poopy puppy paper

I just lost my wedding ring - although now this fact is almost beside the point because I found it again - but not after what I can safely say was one of the single most traumatic and disgusting experiences of my adult life.

We buy about ten kg of newspapers every two weeks.
Mooshy, the little darling, has not yet mastered the art of waiting to do his business when we take him outside and so we provide his royal highness with fresh newspapers splayed out on the balcony. He's smart enough to use them. A talent for which I am grateful every day.

The task of cleaning up this mess falls to me every four or five days - but in the meantime, as he messes one layer I add a fresh one over the top. It may sound rudimentary but the system works.

Tonight I realized it was about-that-time and so made my way dutifully to the balcony to replace the mucky papers with completely new ones.

Beforehand I'd washed my face and like a big dummy placed the four rings I was wearing, including my precious 32 stone white gold eternity band, in the kangaroo pocket of the red hooded sweatshirt I'd thrown on to ward off the encroaching Indian winter.

I crouched over the balcony and it's charming task, plastic gloved, folding the wasted newspapers in on themselves until they were a manageable size. I then stuffed them all at once and with much effort into a too-small plastic grocery bag and set the whole thing aside to go in and wash my hands. With that done, I decided to quickly wash the floor in the main room of the house and bent over yet again to do so - not understanding, until I saw Mooshy happily attacking my huge black onyx set in a border of small silver stones as if it were any old plaything, that something was amiss. I snatched the ring out of his mouth as yet another fell out of the useless pocket and danced across the tile floor. Grabbing them up and reaching in to where the others were supposed to be I came up short. With only one more ring accounted for I realized in a sickening instant that I had lost my wedding ring - even more sickening was the thought that I'd probably initially lost it while working on the soiled newspapers project and that it was now somewhere in that bag, tucked up within a big gooshy mess.

Groaning, I dragged the bag into the bathroom where we have the brightest light and emptied out the contents on the floor. Appalled by what I knew I had to do I made another pass of the balcony and then the adjoining room, checking under the dyed sage green floor mat edged in beaded sari material. No dice. I ran my hand under the washing machine and came up with nothing but a dusty confirmation that it needs very desperately to be cleaned under there.
I wondered if the puppy had eaten my diamonds and cringed at the prospect of recovery, eyed his frolicking backside, imagined having to tell Hamid - and returned immediately to the bathroom to lift out and inspect every single nasty piece of paper, one at a time.

Working in years past as a nanny, I've changed a lot of diapers with all sorts of indescribable ingredients, but this was another story altogether. Had I been in competition I'd surely have won for thorough searching, but alas did not actually find the ring.

I returned to the main part of the house to lay on the floor in a heap of despair. What would I tell my husband? "Sorry baby, I lost the ring in a pile of poop and couldn't find it."
Or, "Ummm, I think the dog ate my wedding ring...wanna help me look for it tomorrow?"
I turned my head to the right, literally sick to my stomach at what I'd just forced myself to go through and upset at the possibility that I'd have to replace that much adored, hand crafted ring - and *poof* there it was....under the bed...way, way, under the bed - but there, glinting and shining at me from among the dust bunnies. A sign, an omen that things are and forever will be perfectly OK, no matter how bad they might seem at any given moment.