I have a Roomba. It does a nice job of sucking up the copious amounts of dog hair that my two dogs constantly shoot off their bodies like the quills from a threatened porcupine. Today this Roomba and these dogs combined to create one of the worst days of my life, at least from an arduous task perspective.
At some point in the morning as I am working in my office, one of the dogs decides to take a shit in the kitchen - an unpleasant occurrence for me in and of itself. At its usual 10:00 am setting, the Roomba rouses itself and begins sweeping. Soon after, a convergence occurred while the dog's leavings were still moist and malleable. The Roomba transformed itself from a tidy little autonomous vacuum into a sort of shit-Zamboni, laying down a smooth, even layer of dogshit all over my kitchen, hallway, and foyer.
After scraping up all the shit with a putty knife, I have mopped my floor five times today, stopping only to go to the store to buy more PineSol and untainted mops. I was initially tempted just to burn the house down and walk away. The combined scents of dogshit and PineSol will punish your sinuses like nothing else can. I imagine that I will be smelling this long after the odor has actually faded – sort of having bad olfactory flashbacks. After I mop one last time I plan to shower until there is no hot water left.
As hardy as the Roomba was, it succumbed to this ingestion of dogshit. Shortly before the discovery of all this, it crawled into a corner, sounded its "I'm stuck" error tone one last time, and died. Alone. It's dead to me anyway, because I am certainly not going to clean the prodigious amount of shit still lodged in all the nooks, crannies, brushes, sensors, and motors in the little guy.
It received a quick, discrete interment, attended by its employer and two representatives from Waste Management. So rest in peace Roomba, you were only trying to carry out your mission as best you could when faced with a challenge you weren't prepared to deal with. There's no dog turds in Roomba heaven.