A potty story, a.k.a. our Daddy, the hero!

Folks, this is one of those stories that you could never make up.  One of those situations where real life was definitely funnier than any sitcom could even try to be. 
It all started about a year ago.  Emma started a workbook.  To motivate her to work on it, we told her that when she completed the book, Daddy would take her to the store to pick out a new toy.  Well, she finished the book a few weeks ago and earned her trip to the store with Daddy (we tried to talk her into a trip to the thrift store to keep it cheaper, but she insisted it must be Target, and so it was).  She picked out a fancy horse-drawn carriage with two little dolls and two little dogs.  These little dogs were the size of thimbles, mind you.  Oh how the girls played with these toys!!  They couldn't stop!  They were having so much fun.
Two days later, Emma was on the potty when Arianna felt the need to come in the bathroom and hand Emma one of the small puppies.  Emma took it and proceeded to try to wipe while holding said thimble-sized puppy.  If I've told them once I've told them a thousand times that toys do not belong in the bathroom! (Do I sound like a broken record or what?!)  You can probably guess what happened.  Yup, there it went right into the toilet.  It sat there at the opening of the little hole.  Emma started to freak out and so I tried to get it with some tongs, and of course I knocked it farther into the hole so that it was no longer visible.  That really got Emma in a tizzy.  So, I tried to fish it out with a streched out paper clip.  No use. I called Kenneth for suggestions and he told me to just leave it alone and that he would get it out when he got home from work.  So, I decided that we would tape the flusher so no one could flush it down and also tape the bathroom door shut to remind the girls to use the other bathroom for the rest of the afternoon.  All would have been fine and dandy except that a couple of hours later the timing for the day dictated that I bathe the children in the late afternoon instead of after dinner like we normally would.  As I untaped the door so the little ones could get in the bath tub, I reminded the girls that they needed to use the other bathroom if they needed to use a toilet.  All was going fine.  Emma was showering in my bathroom and Arianna and Grant were bathing in the bathroom with the puppy in the potty.  I had to leave Arianna and Grant at one point to help Emma.  In the one and a half minutes I was gone, Arianna felt the urge and had to hop out of the tub and do a #2 in the potty- completely forgetting about the concealed puppy.  I couldn't believe it.  Of course, as soon as Emma heard what was going on (at this point she was done with her shower), she ran into the bathroom in a complete state of hysteria, blaming Arianna for doing it on purpose and flipping out saying we would never get the puppy back.  (I apologize if any of this is too much for any of you- you may gladly skip the rest- especially if you are at a stage in your life where you are not dealing with poop on a daily basis like I am and it is revolting to you.)  I once again called Kenneth at work and told him he would never believe what had happened now (all the while with Emma sobbing and screaming in the background).  He suggested that I try to scoop out the pieces to avoid them breaking down further so that he would still be able to get the puppy out when he got home.  As the martyr-mother that I am, I carefully scooped out as much of the poop as I could and painstakingly took it in a bucket into the other bathroom to dispose of it, then taped the toilet shut so we wouldn't run into this problem a second time.  Of course, at this point, the water is completely cloudy, er, in a brown hazy sort of way, if you know what I mean.  Yuck.   The potty remains untouched for the rest of the day- thank heavens.
Well, Daddy comes home and prepares to extract the thimble-sized puppy from the toilet.  He, knowing more of the inner workings of toilets than I, had a plan of attack.  First, he had to bail out as much of the mucky liquid as he could so that he can see what he was doing.  This, of course, involved finding the right small bailer-outer that we could then throw away and the right bucket which we could then throw away- after being involved in such dirty business.  To let you really be a part of this, you must picture the scene: a small, ugly, yellow wall-papered, yellow-linoleumed bathroom with 5 people crowded in it to witness the rescue (one of whom was quite vested in the outcome, being so attached the the lost item).  Of course, Dad felt no pressure at all to save the puppy.  No, none at all- knowing his 6 year old would be devastated if he did not successfully retrieve the poor poopy little puppy. 
So, there we are.   We are at the point where Kenneth is ready for step 2.  To press the trigger, so to say.  It was 'now or never time'.  Kenneth was thinking he could slowly press down the flusher and cause just a little bit of water to come through the little hole to force the puppy out and into his waiting hand which was blocking the larger hole.  Well, it didn't so much work that way.  Once he had slightly pressed the flusher it was full force with the water out of the hole and with his hand in there blocking the normal flow, it sprayed mucky water all over, in quite a fast and furious way, mostly getting Kenneth, poor guy.  But, in the midst of the chaos and nastiness of that unexpected spray, there it was; the puppy was safe in Daddy's hand.  Oh, the joy!  Emma was delighted and Daddy was crowned the hero.  Mom, of course, whisked that little puppy right away to the kitchen where I boiled it and washed it.  It still smelled.  (I guess being lodged in the inner depths of a toilet for a few hours will do that to you.)  Much to Emma's sadness, we put it up on a shelf for a day or so to air out until the girls dragged a chair over and could wait no longer. 

And guess what?  I think since the incident I can count on 2 fingers the number of times I have seen them play with that puppy.  Go figure.  At the end of the day, Daddy was the hero.  Another positive outcome out of the whole deal?  I was motivated to give the bathroom a good cleaning, which never happens often enough around here.