Here’s a couple seconds of the cool little dude now:
Created 8/26/10 by Aunt Amy:
I made a commitment to dog-sit for four days. I fill the dog’s food bowl and make sure she has plenty of water to drink. I also let her out the front door to do number one; she is trained to then run around the side of the house, where I let her in and give her a treat. Staying overnight is part of the job, too.
I realize the ramifications, even more clearly today, each time I tell say, “Sure, that will be fine,” agreeing to dog-sit once more. Unfortunately, my Mom gets the short end of the stick, or leash, in this case. I rope my dear sweet kindhearted Mom into taking care of the canine’s twice daily expenditures, if you will.
You see, due to my mobility issues, she arrives early in the morning, around 7:30, to walk the dog for me. My Mom returns approximately eight hours later to repeat her duties, which include the unpleasant task of scooping the animal’s deposits into a plastic Kroger bag to carry back to the house to properly dispose of.
But this short anecdotal story’s focus is not about the fact that the next time I dog-sit is 19 days before my nephew’s sixth birthday, or my Mom’s immense selfless nature.
On the morning of Thursday, my Mom’s grandsons accompanied her on the dog’s morning walk. I heard part of the summer stroll went a little something like this:
“Look at that, isn’t that gross?” commented Grandma as she scooped number two from a neighbor’s lawn. “Are you gonna do that?” she asked the 5-year-old, who previously voiced interest in one day owning a four-legged animal of his own.
“No,” her eldest grandson quickly responded, leading his Grandma to further inquire about the subject.
“It has to be taken care of. Who will clean it up then?”
“Well I’m not pickin’ up poop!” the boy declared emphatically. “I’ll be at work.”
“Then who is?” asked Grandma.
The little boy failed to hesitate in his amusing-yet-isn’t-that-the-truth-in-so-many-cases crisp reply: