Dillon and I got in a fight early this morning over how to get Winston across our patio without scraping his knees and thighs against the cement. Our goal was to get him to the grass to poop. It took a path patched together from yoga mats and cardboard. We motivated Winston to drag his butt across it by putting his breakfast on a chaise longue out on the grass.
It all had to be done quickly as soon as we got up, before Winston pooped in the house. This method worked, but left me and Dillon frazzled.
I asked Dillon to rearrange the yoga mats for Winston’s return trip, then I was dissatisfied and redid it again myself. She was outraged.
“I’m never going to ask you what to do any more,” she snapped. “I’m just going to do it myself!”
“Fine! You two just stay out here.” I went back inside and hurried into the bathroom. Winston wasn’t the only one who needed to pee.
Within less than a minute, Dillon was yelling at me again. “Lynnie, should I bring Winston back in the house? What should I do?”
After that I called in a subscription to the daily LA Times today so we would have a constant supply of newspapers to clean up after Winston’s messes in the house. Hey, I might actually enjoy reading it, too!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Laugh, you sound like me when frustrated or cross Lynne...
Fine! ... I'd hear my husband mutter...'That means its not bloody fine'...laugh mind you he never said it out loud...
You and Dillon do have your work cut out...
Post a Comment