10/02/2026
This is my mop.
There are many like it, but this one is mine.
My mop is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.
Without me, my mop is useless. Without my mop, I am useless. I must wield my mop true. I must mop faster than the puppy who is p*eing on the floor. I must clean it before he runs through it. I will.
My mop and I know that what counts in the whelping room is not the gallons of cleaner we pour, the number of paper towels we use, nor the curses we mutter. We know that it is the clean floor that counts. We will keep it clean.
My mop is canine, even as I am canine, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother.
I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its handle, its mop head, its bucket and its wringer. I will keep my mop clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready.
We will become part of each other.
Before God, I swear this creed.
My mop and I are the defenders of my kennel.
We are the masters of puppy s**t.
We are the saviors of my floor.
So be it, until there is no p**p, no p*e, no spilled water, no overturned food bowl, and no puppy inexplicably covered in something that was not there thirty seconds ago.
And when the floor is finally clean...
one of them will s**t on it.
