by Andrea Mulder-Slater I opened the car door, glanced at the back deck, tossed my purse onto the seat, and pulled the seat-belt loose from the booster. “WAIT!!!” I shouted as the six-year-old began to make her way into the vehicle. “Oh, crap,” I continued, “not again.” The turds were everywhere. On the floor. On the back seat. In my daughter’s booster chair. On the front dash. In the cup holders. In the door pockets. Everywhere I looked there were tiny little shits. Every. Where. It wasn’t my first time discovering rodent poo in the car and so I went into full-on Fixer mode. I began removing the reusable grocery bags from the back of the automobile. And by removing, I mean I threw those suckers clear across the driveway in case one or more poop machines might be hiding out inside one of our President’s Choice sacks. Meanwhile, Jan – who had been watching from the house – joined me until it looked like the car had thrown up on the gravel. Twice. Unfortu
