What? Who? Me?

Because of recent snowstorms, daytime temperatures that have hovered well below freezing and the usual chaotic schedule, I haven’t been on top of cleaning up after the dogs in the backyard. This means that Chuck will go out in the morning and leave himself an afternoon treat. Which in turn means that instead of smelling like cinnamon pinecones, the house smells of rancid dog farts. Yesterday he let one go that was so trumpet-like he could have joined the horn section in a symphony.

Everyone in the house is going, “Oh god, Chuck! CHUCK! NO! SERIOUSLY?” All day long. And he just doesn’t understand why it’s such a big deal.

Tis the season!