Bloody Cut Somebody

I'm getting a little off track because I was supposed to finish regaling you with tales of my misadventures yesterday. My brain, as you may have gathered by now, is a little bit of a twisted place. It has a tendency to meander. I was thinking about how when I left off, Grady had returned home from the dog park with a cut on his damn head. This reminded me of my nephew referring to an injury as a "bloody cut". He was pretty little at the time and I remember him coming in wide-eyed, holding out his finger and announcing "I've got a bloody cut". I think that's kind of an oxymoron but it was pretty funny nevertheless. This caused me to think about another funny story involving my nephew, my dog Coal and my parents house. If you've been reading for awhile, you are aware that my mother is a bit of a clean-freak. Not strangely so but momma runs a tight ship. That's probably where I get it from. Bwahaha......NOT. I run more of an "under the Big Top free-for-all". Complete with monkeys and elephants. And clowns are a given. Not the scary kind. The drunken kind. Anyway, I believe our dogs have been tolerated at my parent's house only because my parents are not stupid and know that "no dogs allowed" are fightin' words. It's amazing what grandparents will put up with to see their grandchildren. Ahhhh, I love my little pawn....er.....Jack. *I'm JOKING, Mom.....don't get your knickers in a twist.* So, as I was saying the dog thing has been grudgingly tolerated. With Coal it was mainly the dog hair and lake stink. He wasn't destructive. I wouldn't even think of bringing Grady to their house until he straightens out. I'm envisioning a piano with three legs and things on fire. And more bloody cuts than you can swing a cat at. Anyway, flashback to a couple of spring breaks ago. We were at my parents house with Jack and our Lab Coal. My brother and his family were also there with their two Goldens. Three boys, three dogs and 6 adults. Kind of a zoo but a good time nevertheless. On the day before we were heading home, I went downstairs to find Dave and my sister-in-law frantically scurrying around the family room. When asked what they were doing, they whispered (wide-eyed), "picking up dog poop". Oh God. If my parents found out about THIS they would FREAK. Apparently, Dave walked downstairs and my nephew was wandering around saying, "SOMEBODY......SOMEBODY......THERE IS DOG POOP IN THE HOUSE....." and thankfully Dave was the first one he found. There was poop everywhere. It was like an Easter egg hunt, only with dog shit. I found one in the bed of a toy dump truck. Score! The worst part of the whole sorry tale is that I was POSITIVE that it could not have POSSIBLY been my well-behaved and beloved dog and placed the blame squarely on the fluffy blonde shoulders of the Goldens. That was until we got home and Coalie's slow decline became evident and he began pooping in OUR house. The Golden's were framed. SOMEBODY......SOMEBODY.......