Don’t worry, this post won’t be as gross as you think it is going to be based on the title.
We’re in the car. All of us. Even Crappy Dog.
Crappy Dog has settled into our family quite seamlessly.
Being the new guy, he often gets blamed for things he isn’t responsible for. Like that time there was a yellowish liquid all over the kitchen floor. “Crappy Dog peed on the floor! What is going on?!” (The pipes were leaking under the sink.)
Or that time the garbage can was pulled over and trash was ALL over the pantry. “Crappy Dog got into the trash! He has never done this before, what is going on?” (When I cleaned it up I found a ziplock of salmon with a billion tiny, tiny puncture marks in it…way too small for dog teeth. It was Crappy Cat who got into the trash. I swear those cats have been extra naughty because they know we’ll point fingers at the dog. Cats are tricksy like that.)
So we’re in the car.
Crappy Baby asks:
If it smells like trees, it is probably trees. No?
He says it smells like broccoli too, so immediately I suggest the dog.
But Crappy Baby replies:
Poor dog. He only smells like unclean broccoli.
He never did figure out what he was smelling.
I’m very thankful that Crappy Dog enjoys baths and that the kids have learned to never, ever give him cheese.