Dog.

Today, when I opened up the back door to let the dog inside, I noticed she had a clod of dirt in her mouth.  Hmmm, I thought, where did you get that from?  Well, when I wandered outside and around the corner of the house, I found out where she got the dirt clod from.  She got it from the huge-ass hole she had dug.

My dog has never dug a hole before. I mean, she has pawed at the ground a few times, but never has she actually dug her paws into the nice cool earth. Now that she’s done it, I’m sure it’ll be her favorite hobby. Especially since it’s still 80 f***ing degrees outside. But I digress…

Being a good doggy parent*, I immediately went to the hole and proceeded to tell it off.  I pointed my finger at the hole and sternly said, “Bad hole!  Very, very bad!”  (I have learned this from the dog books.  They say that the dog does not know what you are referring to if you come and yell after the hole digging, therefore if you do not catch them in the act, you must show them that the hole digging is bad, not the dog themselves.)  (Oh, God, I’m one of those people.)  Let me just say that my neighbor, who was in her driveway cleaning her car, must have thought I had truly gone around the bend.  There I was in my bare feet, yelling at a hole in the ground while my dog watched nearby, pondering my very intelligence (or lack thereof,) I’m sure.

Let me repeat that, just in case you missed it.   I was outside yelling at a hole in the ground whilst a neighbor, and the dog, watched.  Something makes me think I may have looked a liiiiiittle like an idiot.

*yeah, I’m a doggy parent.  (And, ha ha HA, I find that very funny.)  She is like a child here in this house. It’s sad, really, the way I let myself get into these things. I mean, I know she’s a dog, and if it ever comes to a choice between actual human beings and my dog, I’m pretty sure I’d choose the human. Pretty sure.

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