Sprocket and Doozer were up on the sofa with me, acting as little furry hot water bottles, when Rob walked through the livingroom into the kitchen. “I’m going to deal with some of the groceries”, he said.
Generally that means that he’s taking whatever meat we’ve bought, and separating/packaging it for the freezer. Because I can’t stand handling raw meat. It squicks me SO out.
Next thing you know, both dogs have flown off the couch and are sitting in the kitchen, staring intently at Rob. And I hear:
“Oh yeah, guys. I forgot to tell you! Today’s the day that I’ve decided that instead of bothering to wrap it up, I’m just going to throw the whole thing of raw hamburger on the floor for you!”
(pause, with only the thumping sound of their joyous tail-wags breaking the silence)
” *sigh* Keep dreaming.”
