This morning I woke up to...

Poop.
Actually I woke up to Beau crying, 2 minutes after the alarm went off and 7 minutes before I really planned on getting up. When I opened my door I was hit with the smell of poop. Colonel's poop. I took care of Beau, convinced him to go back to sleep, and then walked back to my room.
"Colonel either has really bad gas or he pooped," I told Rus (waking him up), before heading to change my clothes for my run.
"I gave him Beau's cheeseburger last night. [Great.] Maybe he's lactose intolerant," [Right. Or maybe he got fed too late], Rus told me. Then he went downstairs and I could hear him dragging Colonel's crate to the backdoor. Poop it was.
I headed out for my run minus a crap covered Colonel - Regular Colonel wants to pee on every bush we pass and surely Colonel-With-The-Runs would be much worse.
When I came home I gave Colonel a bath in our bathtub. Gross. He wasn't caked with poop, which is the only reason I didn't hose him down outside - well that and the 20 deg. temperature.
I knew he appreciated the warm bath and nice smelling soap when he crapped right on my bathmat after his bath. If he wasn't appreciative he would have crapped on the carpet (my bathroom is carpeted - why, why why.)
I took him and the soiled mat outside. I'm learning such a profound amount of things owning my first dog - like this - a dog with the runs stays outside. Then while I was already dirty/sweaty/wet I cleaned out his crate. Fun.
I was just finishing up when Rus met me on the other side of the window by the hose. It was opened to help air out our house.
"Thanks for cleaning out his crate," he told me.
"Your welcome. Especially since you fed him a hamburger. I don't think he likes Del Taco," I replied.
Rus laughed and then countered by sweetly telling me I had poop on my shirt and pants. Considering the events of the morning I was shocked. No not really.
Dog.
Man's best friend.
Jury's still out for Women.