I always think there is a book by that title, but then I realize it was instead, The Poky Little Puppy. It's a Little Golden Book. I read it as a child and I loved the book. Years ago, I entertained the thought of writing children's books. Why not, right? Therefore, I have an announcement. In light of my experience with dogs, I'm writing a new book entitled The Poopy Little Puppy and submitting it for certain rejection.
I'm totally kidding. Hmmm, perhaps I should create a tongue-in-cheek satire piece based on each Little Golden Book. Maybe there's a market. Maybe they'd sue me. I'll have to think about that. Sigh... I digress.
What I really want to talk about today is cuticle scissors and playing mind games with my children. What does that have to do with The Poopy Little Puppy? These things are all related, I promise. Don't be confused. Here, I'll tie the threads together for you.
We raise and sell Great Pyrenees puppies. Yes, you've seen the pictures of my fur-babies. The other day, we had to do a little... shall we say... delicate fur maintenance in the buttocks region of a puppy. You see, our puppies have very fluffy, fine, white hair. The puppies also have a little bit of a case of the goopy poops when they're weaning.
One of the puppies apparently managed to sit on his goopy poop and then fall fast asleep, or some horrid scenario like that, and his fur-mommy did not get it cleaned up. This meant that human-mommy (that would be me) got the privilege of butt maintenance. I know 'tis the season, but I can't very well sell a puppy with a chunk of poop dangling about like a Christmas ornament from the poop-a-doodle orifice.
My plan was to bring the puppy in, put it in the tub, and take care of it with some paper towels. Plan A did not work. The poo was stuck like glue. It soon became apparent that I was going to have to cut the tainted chunk of fur from my wriggling poopy little puppy.
I needed help.
I summoned both children and grabbed the cuticle scissors. Not only did they not want to help and were properly grossed out, man, but they both almost simultaneously exclaimed, "Ewwww, you're using those scissors? I'm never using those again!" I almost crapped in my own fur at that moment. I had an epiphany. Brilliant!
All I have to do to keep the children from running off with my things is to do something disgusting with whatever item they would normally "borrow," then disinfect it. They will never touch it again! I grinned from ear to ear. An evil smile of realization crept across my face. Brilliant, I tell you. Brilliant!
My mind raced. What could I do with the hair brush? My makeup? My stapler! Oh, the possibilities... Why, I think I'll drop something in the toilet right in front of them next week. "Oh no, I dropped my hair brush in the toilet and I just peed. So gross! Oh well. I'll just wash that off and it'll be fine." Hee hee hee. They'll never touch my stuff again.
Felix sure has a pretty butt, though, thanks to my now thoroughly bleached, scrubbed and sanitized cuticle scissors. Brilliant, I tell you. Simply brilliant.
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