I came home from work today to the smell of pee and saw a look of utter shame on both my dogs’ faces. The worst part about it is I can’t find where they did it. I’ve been crawling around on my hands and knees sniffing away, with no luck. Disgusting.
I wish I could afford to install a hidden camera in the house so I could see what my boys do when I’m not around. Peeing only takes a few seconds. What do they do the rest of the time? Play poker? Throw wild parties? Watch kitty porn? They definitely don’t do housework. And as often as I’ve told them to get a job, the suggestion seems to have fallen on deaf ears. I’m such an enabler.
It’s disconcerting to think that my dogs have lives that I know nothing about. They have secrets. They know more about each other than I do about either one of them.
If they could speak, I wonder what they’d say to me? I wonder what they think about me? It’s a safe bet that they inwardly laugh when they see me crawling around sniffing for pee.
Cough. Gag. Found it! The bath mat. Well, at least it wasn’t the carpet. But still, yuck.
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