You might wonder how I came to moon the neighbors. Marsha decided to plant some flowers in the front of the house. Seeing an opportunity for unsupervised destruction, my youngest decided to play in the back. By “play”, I mean turn on the water and create a mud pit. The dog I didn’t want thought this was genius and dove right in, joined immediately by the Dogosaurus I didn’t need who promptly trenched out a storm shelter. Then he cut is paw. Blood and mud now coat dogs, deck and daughter.
Fleeing the scene, Emmy heads for the house…followed by her two admirers who bolt in the door behind her only to encounter Marsha who begins screaming bloody mudder as the kitchen begins to resemble a crime scene. I arrive home to chaos…a breathless wife, a daughter convinced she’s going to die, two dogs who think “this is awesome” and Stephen King’s backyard.
Turns out that when you don swim trunks that fit you 30lbs ago while bathing a reluctant 150lb Mastiff, you’re likely to moon the neighbors. I’m sure they didn’t notice anything amiss. Sure of it.