Last week my sister bought a one-year-old Beagle and she called me to ask a few basic questions about caring for a dog, things like when and what do you feed these things? How often will this thing go poo? How far can this thing walk, ’cause she walks five miles a morning, can this thing handle that kind of mileage?
In the middle of asking me if it was okay to give this thing a bath every day, you know, ’cause of that dog smell, she stopped mid-sentence and screamed at her two four-year-old twin boys, again in the most Southern accent imaginable, “STOP PUTTIN’ CAP’N CRUNCH IN HIS WATER BOWL.”
I’ve called her every day since to see if that thing is still alive.