There’s no way I am posting a photo of the minutes-ago incident that inspired this ginnygram. This Kiss will stand in very nicely.
When Ginger was four, Santa brought her a Sheltie puppy. Our first family dog. And we proceeded to paper train the pup in the kitchen.
Why I was decorating cookies after Christmas, and why I was using store-bought tubes of icing, I’ll never remember. But as I piped out a squidge of chocolate icing, the devil with his little bitty pitchfork settled on my shoulder and giggled in my ear.
“Squirt some of that dark chocolate on the kitchen floor.”
I did.
And I called for my little daughter, “Ginger, come in the kitchen right now! Your puppy has pooped on the floor!”
(Like I would ever make a four-year-old clean up puppy-doo.)
But Ginger apparently felt a sense of duty (great word choice) and hustled to the kitchen and studied the ‘doo.
I said, very seriously, “I’m pretty sure it is ‘doo.” And I swiped it up with my bare finger and popped into my mouth.
“Yup, it’s ‘doo all right.”
“DAAAAAADDDDDDYYYYYYYY!!!!!!” et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
We’re headed home to Danville for my mother’s birthday in a couple of days. We’re bringing Pixie and new-puppy Boo. There’ll be a few children at the party. And there’ll be cake.
I think I may have some leftover chocolate icing, don’t you?
ginnygram 