My Mister and the dog have their own thing going. Er, the dog not going, more like it.
Bert becomes, with my Mister, literally anal retentive. For me: not quite literally, it's a shit storm.
Last night, post birthing class and mid-way through a season two episode of The Sopranos (we're so hooked.... we're rewatching), Bert begins to do his buck dancing across the floor and the dropping of his huge $6 bone (purchased recently, by my Beloved Mister from the butcher at one of the fancy markets from whom he receives Nashville's Table goods for agencies in need) . I put down the last of the homemade peach ice cream and here's how the conversation goes:
Ms. Booty Homemaker: Well, looks like it's poo time. Should I take him out?
My Beloved Mister: The thing is, I've been pimped by him so many times.
MBH: (amused) Yeah, I know, baby. He won't perform for you.
MBM: We could choose to teach him restraint now, you know.
MBH: But what if he really needs to go?
MBM: Yeah, and he's telling us what he needs....
MBH: I think maybe I should just take him out.
MBM: (sighing) I'm sorry it has to be you, babe.
MBH: What if our child is like this?!?
MBM looks stricken.
MBH, dressed in one of her favorite slinky slips. & Bert, the dog, exit to the side yard; re-enter a short time later.
MBM: Well? The verdict?
MBH: He pooed. Immediately. Down in back by where the woods start.
MBM: Did you pick it up?
MBH: It was too dark.
MBM: I'll get it in the morning. (sigh)