Honestly, I don't know which one of you it is, or whether it's both of you. But I cannot stand it anymore!!!!!!!
STOP FARTING, DOGS!
This is a desperate plea. You both look so innocent, one either side of my workstation. Asleep. Nose under your front leg, Miss Mena (smart move, young lady, maybe it's you) and head over your curled up paw, Pepsi (but you're old so perhaps you've lost your sense of smell and don't care... it could very well be you)
My nose. It burrrrrrns! My eyes, they water!
I told Steve the other day that I could not afford for him to not cook up your casserole dinners, because the canned stuff just wreaks havoc on your insides and I have to pay for it all day. It appears the habit of pffft-ing into the air at regular intervals, like one of those ruddy Airwick scent dispensers, has become a joyful habit for one or both of you and it makes no difference that you now have your proper meals back.
Well. As Steve said this morning..... "At least it's not Chum night."
2 comments:
Oh dear! My guys are awful after chicken bones.
blame the dogs, that's what I do (and I don't even have a dog).
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