I'm about to ask you a question and then answer it with no pause for your feedback.
Just thought I'd prep you.
What is worse than unhappily discovering dog poop upstairs on the corner of the bedroom rug because one tiny (and apparently, delicate) brown chihuahua likely decided that -11° weather means it is too unbearably frigid to rest one's paws on the ground long enough for accomplishing the task oh...I don't know...OUTDOORS?
I'll tell you what's worse.
You now find yourself looking deeply into two watery and guilt-ridden, but otherwise manipulatively vacant, brown eyes and are painfully aware of how sadly well-acquainted you have become with the nature of your dog's...business...and this knowledge forces upon you a realization that something is amiss. Aha, that's it. And before you can rationalize that all you will receive in response is a more frantically-blank gaze, you hear yourself ask an embarrassed chocolate ball of hair:
"WHERE is the REST of it?"
(Who could blame the little guy, truly? Seeing them hobble around after a few seconds out there during the past two days is awfully sad.)
