Sometimes I think Tucker has IBS because the moment she finishes eating, homegirl needs to go outside thatminuteorshewilldie. Or at least, that’s how she makes it seem as she scarfs down the last bite & then starts prancing like a show pony on meth at the back door.
In the kitchen this morning, Tuck was finishing her (second! damn dog for acting like I hadn’t fed her!) breakfast & Harrison walks over to her, points & says “Tuck! Poop!”
Except when he says “Tuck” it sounds like “touch” & it’s really darling.
So I asked him if he needed to poop & he shakes his head no & says, “Tuck, poop!”
So I shrug & ask him if Tuck needs to poop & he says, “Yes. Tuck, poop please!”
Maybe it’s one of those things where you had to be there to find it roll-on-the-ground funny, but I was still laughing two hours later.
“Look, Harrison! A caterpillar! See how fuzzy it is?” I squat down to his level by the back porch. It’s a gorgeous spring day & we’re playing in the backyard, waiting for Gram to come over.
