Don't let her lick your face

In the midst of assembling hamburger patties for last night's dinner, I heard an ominous sound erupt from the business end of The Baby. It only took a quick glance to see that he was swimming in dookie. After a brief panic, I figured that the best way to handle the situation would be to wrap The Baby in paper towels and rush him to the bathtub, dealing with the mess in the bouncy seat later. After a head-to-toe de-pooping in the upstairs bathroom, I was ready to tackle the poop puddle in the chair.

When I came downstairs, the bouncy seat looked like this:

Gross, right? You know what's really gross? When I left, there was a pool of poop. When I got back, only a poop stain. What happened in the interim?

The dog.

I also left this on the kitchen counter:

Two and a half pounds of juicy, delicious, raw hamburger patties. A canine's dream. My dog could have had a huge pile of seasoned raw meat. She chose poop.

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