On Sunday, we took advantage of the warm weather to give our two dogs a bath — a task dreaded by all of us, perhaps most especially the dogs. And we chose to wash Dusty first, as she is the fastest and was already warily eyeing the hose being dragged from the basement. Then, as I finished rinsing the soap from her fur, ignoring the indignation in her glare, I sent Younger into the house to retrieve the as-yet-oblivious George.
And as I glanced up to see him trudging towards the house in his socks, I added, “And don’t you leave footprints across my wood floor!”
“But Mom,”he objected, barely glancing at me as he turned towards the garage, “then how will Scooby Doo find me?”
I frowned at him. Until he disappeared into the shaded interior of the house.
Then I dipped my head and grinned. I might have even laughed.
But I can’t really let him know he entertains me.
I already have sufficient supply of snarkiness from that meddling kid.