Yes, The Dog…Again

So once again here I am writing the Daily Disaster and The Dog is the star.  By now you are probably thinking to yourself “hey I thought they weren’t going to blog about their dog”…..well let me clarify something:   I will not blog incessantly about how cute my dog is nor will I dress her up in outfits and shove the pictures down your throat.  However, when it comes to disasters my dog tends to be the star.  That is just life in my house for the past 11 years.

This time the disaster featuring The Dog did not take place in my house; it happened at Grandma’s house.

Oops!

My mom  was kind enough to allow The Dog to come stay with her for the day while we were out (Yes, when we are gone for more than 8 hours the dog must be “babysat”).  The Dog loves to go to Grandma’s house where she can hang out with Grandma’s Dog and be a 70 pound submissive doormat to his 20 pounds of dominant yipping.  That is the key piece of information in this story: her dog is in charge.  My mom and I have been convinced for years that he tells her what to do and she does it.  Sort of the Bonnie to his Clyde.  Well this day at Grandma’s was no exception.

While Grandma was out for a short bit of time The Dog knocked down a bottle of fish oil capsules to the floor and well…..ate them……ALL.  Well, maybe not ALL of them since she was kind enough to break a few and rub them into my mom’s carpet.  

Now for those of you who are unaware of what the side effect of consuming excessive amounts of fish oil is let me sum it up for you in two words:  

Oh Crap. 

Yes she did.  She crapped all over Grandma’s house.  I mean everywhere making a trail throughout the house of oily dog-crap.  Not only did the house smell like old rotten fish but it also blended aromatically with dog crap.

Needless to say I received a  screaming phone call from my mother.  She wasn’t happy.  Immediately I found myself over there to collect my canine.  Instantly  I felt as if I was 15 years old  and busted for lying about where I was last night.  I imagine it was the regression to adolescence that caused me to utter the phrase “Well I bet your dog told her to do it.”

I instantly felt the mom-glare burning into the back of my neck.  I knew it, I was grounded.  At the age of 36 I still feel totally busted when it comes to my mom.  I hope I inherit that ability later on down the road with my kids when they are adults.  It really is phenomenal.

So my mom’s house still smells like rotten fish but mom still loves me and The Dog.  Oh and get this: she also thinks her dog told my dog to do it.  However, I doubt The Dog will be having any sleepovers at Grandma’s in the near future.

~RM1