Spring is sprunging. We had a nice thunderstorm this morning; made it quite difficult to drag my ass out of bed. And even more difficult to explain to Brody he really needed to poop before I leave for work, despite the downpour and the thunderboomers. After much cheerleading on my part he dropped a lil wiener loaf. He looked sad and soaked after. It was for his own good though. He would've hated to sit in his crate with a gut full of poo all day.
I just wrote a paragraph about my dog pooping. It only makes sense, I guess, since it is very much a part of my daily conversation with D. In the morning: "Did Brody poop yet?" At night before bed, "Did Brody poop before bed?" Seriously. At least twice a day we discuss Brody's poop. We really could adopt. (Notice I said 'could') Because, yeah, being a parent is just talking about baby poop...twice a day. And THAT last statement is why we don't adopt. That and I heard on Fox news that gay parents can give their adopted children cancer. And the gay virus. But excellent fashion sense and a love of Bravo.
That's a good place to end this entry. And I thought I was going to write some Ode to Spring and I digressed on dog poop and gay adoption. That's what happens when I live on Red Bull and Coffee all day. My brain is applesauce.
