The other night I was wrangling up the dawgs to take them outside. This winter, the snowbanks have been so high, I just saddle up the pugs and let the Chidler roam, being contained by said snowbanks. I took them out and in passing saw SF standing on the fainting couch in their room. Yes, the dogs have their own room.
He was looking a little devious, but I smiled anyway. I came back in, unstrapping the hounds and taking off the winter gear.
"Stommy(my nickname) one of the dogs peed!" he squeaks.
Muthafuckinrescuehoundsfromhell, I think as my internal ire skyrockets and steam comes out of my ears. I walk in and there is a spray line across the window sill and on either side of the 100+ year old barnwood panels.
"What the heck(believe me, I wanna say fuck)? What happened? Who did this?"
"Well, it wasn't me," he says, "it was Ginger."
I was in awe. "O, Ginger!(sonofabitch)"
"It wasn't me" he chimes again.
"Did you do this? I mean if you did, you should really tell the truth" I say.
"Stommy, I did do it and I apologize."
"Well, you shouldn't do that! But I want you to know that I'm really proud of you for telling me the truth. It's very brave to tell the truth when you know you've done something wrong," I say and give him a big hug.
Then we cleaned the piss up together. O joy! O love! Togetherness and a teachable moment over urine.
