Last week, we celebrated Poop Day at the Dingle house.
It was a good day.
A productive day.
It was sort of like a cleanse, really.
A poop cleanse.
Anyway, as with so many things in our lives, the dogs all helped. Fred looked for gross stuff to eat and/or roll in (usually both), and The Shepherds investigated the yard for any possible dangers (Marshal Dillon Dingle investigates dangers by barking his loopy head off, hoping all dangers flee before he even sees them. This is his tactic. It is loud. It is obnoxious. And it is clearly, in his opinion, effective.)
So I’m tossing a ball and it is being retrieved perfectly by The Shepherds (as opposed to the Labrador RETRIEVER, who has never retrieved anything in his life), and poop is being scooped by the Nearly Perfect Husband, and birds are tweeting and Spring is totally winning its arm wrestling match with Winter.
It’s all perfect.
I tell The Shepherds that ball tossing time is ‘all done’ and I head over to cheer on the Nearly Perfect Husband as he expertly shovels poop into a bucket (I am all sorts of supportive). The Shepherds head up to the terrace.
Okay, it’s a raised patio because it was really muddy where it sits, but doesn’t ‘terrace’ sound so awesome? Maybe this spring, I’ll take tea on the terrace. Yes. that would be nice. Wait. No it would not! Because…
Because The Shepherds are nosing around and clearly interested in something on this very terrace and, when I go over to see what it is, I am astonished.
I know. Gross.
I’ll give you a minute to collect yourself.
I think I know what happened.
As you might recall, there was an unsolved murder late last year.
Okay, fine. It was totally solved because Marshal Dillon Dingle still had fuzz in his mouth.
But, if you recall, you grabbed the trash bag and then we rolled poor Mike’s body in a rug and ‘disposed’ of it.
What?! Yes, you absolutely did help! Don’t you remember me saying, ‘I go down, you go down’? My Gawd, your memory is getting bad as you age. Okay, fine. We were stressed. I totally forgive you for forgetting.
The only explanation I can think of is… and I hate to say this …
I know we didn’t bury Mike with anything valuable, but I think that Marshal Dillon Dingle thought he could get something for Mike’s braces because they are shiny and he thinks shiny things are valuable (seriously, he keeps trying to remove people’s watches, but not any cheapy sports ones that are rubber or plastic, only the steel or gold ones. He also seems very attracted to my ring. And aluminum foil. Marshal Dillon Dingle clearly has an eye for the good stuff).
He was going to remove Mike’s braces, and try to barter with the Great Pyrenees up the hill for his own orange tennis ball (Blaze’s prize orange tennis ball has been Marshal Dillon Dingle’s object of desire for, like, ever).
So, as soon as I saw the evidence of the grave robbing, I talked to both Shepherds right away (because you shouldn’t let any time go by, lest they think they are being lectured for something else, like poop eating).
I explained that grave robbing was a crime and also extremely disrespectful.
Marshal Dillon Dingle totally clammed up, which was totally like him. He wouldn’t make eye contact, looked all over the place. Broke his ‘sit’, broke his ‘down’, tried to go play with Fred. Basically anything he could think of to avoid any lecture, discussion, or culpability. I truly don’t know what I’m going to do with him.
By the end of it all he was upside down, showing me his belly, tongue hanging out, and making pig snort noises.
The dog has no shame.
Blaze was disgusted.
What did she do when faced with the charges?
What do you think.
She sat there quietly, made perfect eye contact, listened to the charges, processed it all.
And then she asked for a lawyer.
Thanks for readin’.
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