I found the beginning on this blog post and realized I should finish it. I can laugh about it now. And you deserve a good laugh.
We were eating dinner the other night, husband, daughter and I, while little dog tried to avoid big dog. She is still wearing the cone of shame and has no idea why he’s avoiding her. He was mildly successful, hanging around under the table where she can’t fit. While she’s really just trying to reach a chicken nugget rather than trying to torment him.
Suddenly, between bites of yogurt and bounces in her chair, daughter announced, “I have to go potty!”
Most of the neighborhood heard her declaration and she promptly announced she wanted me to come with her.
We went into the small bathroom, the one that desperatly needs to be remodeled. We were followed by two dogs. Little dog, still horrified, scurried under the toilet, and I dragged big dog out with me when I was told to “Leave and Close The Door.”
A few minutes later daughter emerges, chasing little dog through the dnining room.
“Bogey, Bogey! Stop!”
She’s carrying a wad of toilet paper. Bogey can’t be caught.
“S- Why is he wet?”
She doesn’t answer.
And then it registers.
She peed on the dog.
I don’t know how. I don’t want to know how. But I want him caught. I want him bathed.
Poor little guy.