I can't take you anywhere

Today was the semi-monthly toenail trimming appointment for the pugs. It may sound frivoluous to send one's dogs in for pedicures when one's own self has not had one in years. But one's own self does not scream, squirm around uncontrollably, and generally make it impossible to trim one's own toes.
Where was I?
Ah, yes, the vet. There was something in the air today that made the pugs especially excited to be at the vet's office. Was it the sudden delightful coolness in the air? Or could they just sense my exhaustion?
As soon as we entered the building, all heads turned to us. Not because we're such a good looking bunch, but due to the noise:
HAAA HAAA HAAA HAAAA
HOW HOW HOW HOW
(That's what two panting pugs sound like. It's surprisingly loud.)
The office is very tiny, and was very busy, so their noises took up the whole room.
Behind the counter, one of the vets was trying to make an appointment.
Customer: "Wait, when? Can you repeat that?"
HAAA HAAA HAAA HAAAA
HOW HOW HOW HOW
Vet: "I'll just write you an appointment card."
The pugs took turns pushing each other off the scale. "I'm fatter!" "No, I am!" The pug not currently on the scale decides it would be fun to wind it's leash around my legs as tightly as possible, constricting all movement. Then they switch!
During these fun times, the pugs are still panting very, very loudly.
HAAA HAAA HAAA HAAAA
HOW HOW HOW HOW
Finally someone comes to take one of the pugs in the back, and I am left with a far more manageable number. I sit down across from an elderly lady who entered with a walker. "What kinds of dogs are those?" she asks.
"Pugs."
"Oh."
I try to read one of the back dated magazines, but Buster (the pug who will be getting his nails trimmed second) decides it will be more fun to crawl under the chairs and wind his leash into impossible knots. I have to keep putting the magazine down to untangle him.
Then, suddenly, he decides to bark. Yip, really. His high pitched, "I'm so excited!" yip. Why? Oh, no reason. It had been getting quiet in here.
At last they bring Topanga out. I untangle Buster one last time, and drag him out from under the chair. They take him into the back, whining all the way.
Things are uneventful for a few glorious minutes, and I begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Buster comes back out, (HAAA HAAA HAAA HAAAA
HOW HOW HOW HOW) the vet says everything looks good, and I start to gather my things and untangle leashes.
But. Then.
I notice Topanga is squatting in the middle of the floor. Something brown suddenly appears.
Oh no.
Topanga has decided on a grand finale! Pooping in the waiting room! Massively pooping! The smell begins to waft.
I usher the dogs into the car before they can make things worse, and come back in to profusely apologize.
"Ah, it's okay. Poop happens." The lady behind the counter says.
I think she meant to say "Pugs happen".


P.S.: Oh, the fun continues once we get home! Buster threw up in FOUR different spots on the freshly (and expensively) cleaned floors. YOU'RE WELCOME!