Today we went to visit some friends who live about a half an hour from us. The only reason I mention that is because the time becomes important later in this story.
We had a very nice time, the kids didn't fight, we ate and ate and ate while the kids played and played and played. The sun was shining through the windows and skylights so it was all toasty and cozy, so much so that we never made it outside to play in the 0°F winter wonderland outside as we'd intended.
After a satisfying visit, Sam and I headed home. Within 5 minutes Sam announced "Mama I need to POOP!" with conviction so I turned the car around and headed back to the house since there isn't much on the way back except interstates and highways.
But my friend wasn't answering the door. I prefer to think that she was busy putting the baby down for his nap rather than that she saw we were back and was hiding because she'd finally gotten rid of us.
Deperate times call for desperate measures. Remember the temperature? And the distance? Because I am cruel but resourceful, I suggested to Sam that he go right there outside the house. He was game but a tad worried about Simone, their very friendly dog who was investigating us carefully. I prepared with plastic bag and kleenex, we exposed sensitive skin to the air and Sam relaxed and peed into the snow bank. But that didn't take care of his more pressing need so after some discussion of positioning, he squeezed out a small but stinky blob. I got busy with Boo butt wiping and then Sam piped up: "The dog is eating my poop!"
Somewhere I heard that 'dog' means feces eater in one of the Native American languages but I didn't really need proof.
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3 comments:
Whoa, that is classic! Too bad you didn't get a picture of him squatting down in the snow. That'd be one for his graduation party.
And people say that dogs have cleaner mouths than we do!
LOL, Lisa!
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