What I UnLearned on My Summer Vacation
The 11th First Day of School

When You Give a Doofus-Dawg a Watermelon

Doofus Dawg on Watermelon

Doofus-Dawg on Watermelon 

I love my dog.  Truly, I do.  Most of the time.  He is a rescue.  They found him tied to a dumpster.  I can only imagine his life, b.u. (before us) still, there ARE pretty good reasons why we also refer to Rudolph as Doofus-Dawg (a.k.a. Pinhead) and why my husband, Garth (not his real name) texted me, while I was having dinner with the kids at my folks' house, last night.

"Wet sticky spot on living room rug, trail of dried juice on kitchen floor, watermellon gone, dish appears not to have broken, I'm not speaking to the dog."

Yes, he spelled watermelon wrong, so, I knew he WAS, you know, pretty angry.

"Where r u?"

Aaaand, I didn't answer him (right away) because, you know, I was THE ONE who left the watermelon on the counter.

"Why is the floor SO sticky?"

My son (he's 11 and, besides the dog and cat, is the ONLY boy in the house) woke up in a HORRIBLE mood, this morning.

"Rudolph ate some watermelon, last night."

Aaaand, he seems to be paying for it (see photo above) too.

"Ah, man, you kiddin' me, who left the watermelon out?"

Apparently, he wanted some.

"Um...Daddy DID!"

Relax.  One good rescue deserves another, right?  Besides, I'll tell him the truth, later (maybe) suffice it to say, I'm the one that has to live with the boy, for the next 8 hours, or so.

"AH, MAN!!!"

School starts tomorrow...THANKGAWD...stupid dog!!!

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