Thursday Night Basset Blogging

The Three Tonguers followed by He Who Can Climb Onto Everything

Recent events revealed : Monday evening the lithe and fabtastic mrs tbogg is coming down the stairs, gets to the bottom step when, crash boom bam, she slips and crumples into a heap ( a very attractive heap, I might add) because a certain puppy allegedly peed on the marble at the base of the stairs, causing one of mrss tbogg’s legs to fly forward while the other refused to cooperate and stayed behind. By the time I got to her she was sitting up and using Our Lord Jesus Christ’s name in the many colorful and novel ways that one might expect to hear from Sen. John McCain when Cindy burns his toast… or hides his Viagra. While she sat on the floor, Fenway, who still was only a suspect at the time, circled her like a shark who thinks he smells blood, his tail wagging with delight at this new game.

With an able assist from me, mrs tbogg collected herself from the floor and hobbled into the bedroom where she eventually announced that she ‘thinks she broke a toe’. I made the appropriate sympathetic sounds while going back to blogging (did you hear I took up blogging recently ? Oh yeah. Great time-waster).

Moments later mrs tbogg came over to the desk and swung a very attractive gam my way, the better to display the aforementioned toe.

"I think it’s broke" she said pointing at her big toe.

I look at it but, let’s face it, unless a toe is pointing in the wrong direction, it’s really hard to see that a toe is broken. I kept looking, my mind racing for something to say. Something comforting. I look at the toe. It looked at me. I’m not intimidated by a toe, I don’t back down. Inspiration strikes…

"I’d kiss it…but it’s your toe."

No response, but I got The Look.

I dug deeper.

"Couldn’t you have hurt a boob?"

Under normal circumstances I would say "Here endeth the lesson." but wait! there’s more.

The next morning the still lithe and fabtastic and now freshly-showered mrs tboggg was in the L&T Casey’s room blow-drying her hair when I heard "Nononononono Fenway! No!"

"Now what?"

"He just pooped in Casey’s room. Come get him."

As I got to the door mrs tbogg was standing there holding Fenway under his front legs, his impossibly long body dangling towards the floor, when she said, "Oh shit!"

"What?"

"I just stepped in it."

"The same foot from last night?"

"Yes. Dammit."

Pause.

"You know, that foot isn’t getting any more appealing."

Here endeth the lesson wherein we learn that, just because you think it that doesn’t mean you should say it.