Dog Eat Dog (Or, You Know, Whatever)

This is the part where I apologize to all my neighbors for breaking the noise ordinance last night. You guys probably all thought you were overhearing some kind of domestic dispute, and although my husband wasn't home, you wouldn't be entirely wrong in that assumption.

I was trying to clean up the house a little bit when I noticed Bravo playing with something on the floor. I assumed it was a tuft of Brutus' fur, because it was small and gray and hairy, and let's be honest, I'm disgusting and I vacuum never. I considered being grossed out by this, but then I remembered that they lick each other's butts on a daily basis, so I should be thankful that it's not something worse.

As it turns out, it was worse.

It was so much worse.

I bent down to pick it up but froze mid-crouch. Something was wrong. It was too dark a gray to have come from Brutus. Was it a piece of dryer lint? Please let it be dryer lint. But if that's the case then WHY DOES IT HAVE A TAIL?

UUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH

I kept looking at it just long enough to identify it as some type of small rodent, then spent the next several minutes pulling my hair out and screaming unintelligible obscenities through my teeth.

Once the paper towel burial was over, I called Gary to tell him what his dog* had done. He said it's actually a sign of affection. I said he was lucky he wasn't within striking distance.

THE END

*We've pretty clearly established that Brutus is my dog and Bravo is Gary's dog, mostly because Brutus is beautiful and elegant and perfect, and Bravo is sloppy and clumsy and just generally the worst.