Poop Poop

So, sometime in January, my neighbor's dog left us a present on our front porch. It was the second such present we were fortunate enough to receive in that month. As Michael left, he exclaimed something I shouldn't type (William is sitting on my lap, and it's not rated G), and stepped gingerly between the turds on his way to work. I assured him that I would look out for our neighbor and take care of it.

I proceeded to stake out the place. I opened the windows, blinds, doors, everything, in the hopes of catching my neighbor on his way to work. I heard him banging around upstairs (William calls these particular neighbors "Boom, Boom" because of said banging), and knew he was catch-able. But somehow between diapers and spit up and laundry I missed him.

I then spent some time composing a reasonable note to paste to their front door. I was explaining to William throughout this time that the neighbor's dog had pooped on our front porch, and that that was gross, and we had to ask them to watch their dog when it pooped. I didn't realize the impression my passionate composition made on my son.

An hour later, and we are on a walk. William says to me "Boom, boom." I say "Yes, the neighbors?" He says "Yeah, woof woof." I say "Yeah, the neighbor's dog?" He says "Yeah, Boom boom woof woof poop poop." I say "Yeah, the neighbor's dog pooped on our porch, huh?" He says "Yeah, GROSS." It was hilarious. Now every time he thinks of talking about the neighbors, he repeats it. Even when the neighbor is there. It's lovely. :)