Last night, as usual, Dearly Beloved let Miss Piggy out for a last tinkle before he went to bed. It never IS her last; I usually have to let her out again before I go to bed.
The “show” she puts on for DB is purely a con on Miss Piggy’s part. She runs out and squats. Since it’s dark, DB has no idea whether she does anything or not. I’d vote NOT, but she comes running back inside, wagging not just her stubby little tail but her whole back side like she’s telling him, “I squatted on that cold wet grass and did a fabulous job just for you. I definitely deserve a treat for it!” And DB FALLS FOR IT!!!
When I let her out at 11, she pees, she comes back inside, and heads for bed. No whooping and bragging. Pretty much the same procedure I follow.
The relationship that has developed between Miss P and DB is hilarious to watch. He talks to her. Before retirement, he would never have imagined himself chatting with a canine. Yesterday, for instance, the three of us took a walk. When we returned home, he asked, “Did you enjoy that, Girl?”
I smiled and said that indeed I had. When I saw his startled look, I realized he’d been talking to the dog.
So, last night when he let her out, I figured the usual con would be in place, but when she raced back into the house, DB called out, “Wait! What have you got in your mouth? Drop it!”
She did. The frozen turd landed a few inches from his bare feet.
DB is squeamish about bodily functions. He still prefers to believe that I don’t have BM’s or perspire or (gasp!) have gas. Anything HE does is never mentioned. Advanced reverse osmosis handles it all. Neatly, cleanly, no need for flushing.
When he realized exactly what was lying there, he freaked out. In other words, the excrement hit the fan. Mr. Never YellsOrCurses began doing both,.
“Do you know what that IS? That’s a damn turd!”
Certainly, I knew what it was. I assume he was talking to “Girl.” She probably guessed “tasty morsel.”
Whereas I would have gotten a little toilet tissue, picked it up, flushed it, and cleaned up with a disinfectant wipe, Drama King pulled a plastic newspaper bag up to his elbow to remove the offending lump. He continued to yell that it was “a damn turd!“
Their relationship is still a little strained this morning. No friendly dog chat. As they walked out the front door I heard him inform her that she was still on his… um… these are not his exact words. .. . Let’s call it his…um… Damn Turd List.