Tula Took a Shit on the Rug, and Honestly That Was the Least Chaotic Part of Our Camping Trip

Right as we were about to leave for a relaxing weekend of camping—bags packed, cooler loaded, keys in hand—Tula, our little anxiety-ridden chaos nugget, looked at Mike dead in the eye… and took a massive dump right in the middle of the living room rug. 💩

Not on the hardwood. Not by the door. Dead center on the Ruggable.

And let me tell you, that moment really set the tone for the whole damn trip.

We couldn’t leave with a turd marinating on the rug, so we tossed it (the Ruggable, not the dog—though it was close) in the washer and waited. Because obviously the carpet needed to take a full spin before we could even think about hitching up and rolling out.

Eventually, we hit the road, heading to Hood Park just outside Pasco. Not far. Should’ve been easy. Should’ve been a quick escape. But nope. The universe had other plans.

We arrive and are told we’re in spot #15. Sounds harmless enough… until we actually see spot #15.

It was the shittiest spot in the entire park. Narrow AF. Awkwardly forked off into another site. On a turn. And of course, back-in only. NO shade.

Now let’s be clear: we are rookies. We need straight back-in or pull-through sites only. It was like trying to back a trailer into a twisted pretzel while performing live theater for a lawn chair audience. 📽️

At one point, the truck was turned so sideways I thought we were gonna jackknife and end up in someone’s charcuterie board. But somehow—we got it “good enough.” Not perfect. Not pretty. But the trailer wasn’t in a ditch and nothing was on fire. So that’s a W. I’m sure there’s video on the internet of that clusterfuck. LOL

We set up camp, fencing for the dogs, pulled out the awning… and realized: no shade. None. Not a damn leaf. Every other site had trees, hammocks, breezes. We were in a convection oven.

We took the dogs on a walk because they’re extra 👑👑 and apparently refuse to poop anywhere convenient. It’s like they need their own backyard and a little privacy to relax their bowels. It’s probably akin to ‘having to go’ at Target or something.

NOW…..Back at the trailer, we go to grab something from the truck… and can’t find the keys.

Now normally I wouldn’t go full panic, but AAA moves like they’re stuck in wet cement and it’s high fire season. 🔥 So yeah, we both spiraled a bit. We tore the trailer apart looking, sweating like sinners in church. Eventually, we had to call our favorite human, Austin Eggers, who showed up like the hero 🦸 he is with the spare key. Crisis averted.

We finally sit down, desperate for a shower after sweating balls looking for those damn keys. Mike goes first. And guess what? The tankless water heater throws an Error1code.

Which, in camper speak, basically means: “Fuck you, figure it out.”

So we did what YouTube taught us: turned it off, turned it on, reset it, switched propane tanks, lit the stove to bleed the gas lines, and cursed loudly. Finally, the little bastard ignited.

YouTube Hack - ✨Turns out, the magic combo is setting the temp to 109–111 and never touching the cold water. Like ever. Like don’t even breathe in its direction.

We got clean. We drank beer. We passed out.

The next morning, we actually woke up feeling human. Dogs were chill. Coffee was brewing. Creamer was present. We took the girls on another walk, and I remembered—there’s a geocache in the park.

I found the general area by a hollow tree and dug around like a raccoon with ADHD for 45 minutes before I realized the coordinates were off by 50 feet. OF COURSE THEY WERE. Eventually found it tucked in a different hollowed trunk, signed the log, dropped a geocoin, took my selfie like a proud dork, and started walking back to Mike and the dogs.

And then—no shit—out of nowhere —a massive tree branch snapped and came crashing down right where I’d been standing just seconds earlier.

No wind. No warning. Just boom. That branch exploded into splinters on impact.

If I had moved five seconds slower I would’ve been mulch. My guardian angel? 100% understood the assignment. I don’t know who or what’s watching over me, but they earned a raise that day. I’ve never felt so lucky, shaken, and weirdly grateful.

Anyway… later that day the girls were ready to swim. Life jackets on, cute as hell, marching down to the beach like they were about to enter Baywatch: Canine Edition.

But then we got hit with the smell.

Goose shit. Cow shit. Possibly human shit. Just disgusting. We looked at each other and immediately U-turned the hell out of there. Meanwhile, there were people in the water just vibing like it was a spa day. I’m convinced they all now have UTIs and regrets.

So we stayed at camp, grilled burgers on the Blackstone, cranked up some music, and enjoyed the fire-free evening. (Yes, there’s a burn ban. No, people didn’t follow it. Because of course they didn’t. Assholes.)

The next morning, we woke up to a ghost town. Everyone was gone. Like fully vanished. Are they sorcerers? Did they pack up with a leaf blower and magic spells? Meanwhile we’re still unhooking power cords, and trying to remember where the hell we put the coffee pot.

Packing up was smooth-ish. The trip ended without any additional disasters. But let’s be real—it began with a literal shitstorm (Thank you, Tula), and somehow we still had a damn good time.

So here’s what I know now, at 55: just roll with it. The chaos will come. Your water heater might crap out. Your dog might shit on your rug. You might almost die via falling branch. But somehow it all works out.

And to my guardian angel—whether you’re a celestial being or a retired firefighter ghost with good aim—I owe you a drink. You crushed it.

✨ Next Up - Harvest Host - Burwood Brewing in Walla Walla