So, my daughter had a very important group Zoom assessment thing for university this evening. An hour before it kicked off she was doing the rounds of the house, making sure everyone knew to STFU from 7.30-8.00 lest her entire academic future be ruined.
Meanwhile, in another part of town—by which I mean the kitchen, I was in the kitchen—barramundi was grilling and salads were under construction from the fresh garden beds.
A pleasant prospect, yes?
At 7.31, as I served the barra and carefully plated up the home grown salad, the aged Labrador decided to unburden herself of an enormous turd, square in the middle of the kitchen. More turds followed.
Duly, they were trod upon.
Some things were said. Loudly. Harshly. But especially loudly.
To no avail, as more turds soon followed.
I believe it was ten minutes into the aforementioned very important group Zoom assessment thing that it occurred to me to stop cursing the dog, its turds and my ruined dinner at full volume.
Lucky it's another whole year before Father's Day rolls around again.
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