“Lucy Smells”

“Lucy smells.”

That’s exactly what Marty said to me as I walked in the door Tuesday night after working a men’s soccer game. First of all, he has two hands that could have easily washed Lucy. Second of all, she did NOT smell! I took a big ole’ whiff of Lucy and smelled…dog.

Lucy is annoyed that a certain someone implied she smells.

I will fully admit that the actual culprit is probably her bed.

Her bed, which is a lovely mixture of dog hair, dog drool and dog pee

Twice last week she chose to show us exactly what she thought of our speed (or lack thereof) in getting out of  bed in morning. On two separate mornings she heard my alarm go off and decided I wasn’t getting out of bed quickly enough and promptly peed in her bed. I know she did it just before I got downstairs because when I let her out to do her business, she had none to do!

So does Lucy smell? No. Does her bed smell? Probably. But how can you get too annoyed at a face like this (even if it is lying in a cesspool of drool and pee)?

Go ahead, try to get angry at that face


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