That's a lose-lose question. I don't even want to answer, let alone think about the ramifications of the yes or the no.
"Do you want to know where the poop is?" I guess I asked him to repeat it.
"I suppose I do. Please show me."
As it turns out, Winston was reluctant to follow the house training rules at our house. I thought he was doing so well - or so much better. Turns out, he had a secret keeper.
Tyler was putting Winston's poop in the heating vent.
(I am deeply thankful to have learned about this before I flipped on the heat in another six weeks.)
So, those two little dogs we had?
Paisley was a biter. And Winston's poop lingered in the wrong places.
They have gone to live with new families who can handle such shenanigans. This woman has her limits.
Let this be a lesson to anyone who comes to live with us: no biting, and no poop in the heating vents. Or I shall find you a new home.
(No animals were harmed in this story. And that is truly by the grace of God.)