This week we are dog-sitting. This is Kaylee, a remarkably stunning and brilliant Airedale who belongs to friends of ours who were smart enough to get the hell out of town for the Seattle debacle known as “June-uary,” which will most likely followed by “July-uary.” (Yes, it’s an official terms that locals use to endearingly refer to the fact that while global warming has its sweaty grips on the rest of the country, it seems to have had no real effect up here in the Pacific Northwest. And June, therefore, might as well be January.)

We don’t have a dog because M does not like them. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that he fears them, but I wouldn’t want to embarrass him, so I’ll just keep that to myself. In fact, as I have said before, I used the dog trick to get M to agree to kids he wasn’t sure he wanted. (“You don’t want any more kids? Ok then, I’ll just start looking for a dog. I’m thinking large and hairy would suit us best. Wait, what’s that you say? More kids are okay?”) To be fair, he was bitten by a dog as a child. On the hand. But then again so was I. On the face. (Not that I’m making comparisons. That would be cheap.)
Mostly, though, he was not raised with dogs, or any animals in the home, so he sees a pet solely as a burden, which it is, and not as an enhancement. And we are busy people, and do spend much of our time wiping the excrement off little people who we sincerely hope will tend to us in our old age. You can’t say that about dogs. But when I announced the dog-sitting gig he did not protest. At least not much.
The boys were understandably giddy. But they were in bed when the dog arrived late last night. Little did we know it, but they left her a little present.
Knowing that dogs work on scent, and that they particularly like the scent of urine, my brilliant offspring decided to leave the dog a little present at the top of the stairs near their room, and mine. Yes, what you see before you folks is a plastic cup full of their – wait for it — pee. Welcome to our home, Kaylee. Here is a small glass of urine with which you may acquaint yourself. (“This way she’ll know us when she smells us!”)
At first we thought it was a continuation of last night’s pranks, but once we dug deeper we learned there was nothing prankish about it. Wow. For two kids who hate this blog and are continually reminding me of it’s devastating effect on their self worth, they really do give me a lot of fodder. They may be little turds sometimes, but they are comic gold.