One Slug, Two Slug

On Wednesdays we meet up with friends for dinner at the pool we belong to and each family brings their own main dish and a side to share. Last week we splurged a bit and found a couple of steaks to grill. The meat was cooked just right, but given the yummy nature of the other offerings that people brought, several pieces of steak were left over, just enough for a small lunch plate.

The following weekend while making lunch with the leftover steak, Charles reserved the fatty bits so that the kids could feed the dog. Calling JB over, he handed her the bowl of nubbins explaining they were for the dog and not to tease her. Nodding that she understood, JB quickly skipped off out of the room sing-songing “SQUIRT” causing the dog to excitedly prance after her. Charles then sat down and began to eat his meal and read his blogs. He should have known better.

After a few minutes of enjoying his lunch, the sound of increasing giggles and chants of “Slug! Slug! Slug! Go faster Slug!” began to catch his attention. At first he ignored it, but the intensity grew to the point where he HAD to check it out. Walking into the living room he found both kids on the stairwell laughing, chanting, giggling and pointing in ways that mean only bad things are happening. At the foot of the stairs stood the dog, eyes extremely focused at the molding along the base of the railing.

Along the spindles of the railing lies a flat piece of decorative wood that is apparently just wide enough for a fatty ‘slug’ of the steak scraps to be placed at the top of the stairs allowing gravity to ever so slowly cause it to slide it down the molding. When the ‘slug’ would get close enough to the bottom of the run, the dog would reach up and gingerly remove what remained of it off the wood and savored the morsel.

By the time Charles stumbled upon this ‘race’, three or four pieces of fatty ‘slug’ bits had already made their ways down the ‘trail’ and the kids were in various states of wetting their pants.

Seeing Charles’s reaction furthered the chaos. JB scrambled up the stairs to the bathroom a stain appearing on her shorts. Seeing JB’s loss of control caused BW to then lose control himself. He slid down the stairs, and as he ran to the other bathroom it was clear that he too needed a change of wardrobe. Charles sighed and went to get the cleaning supplies, leaving the dog in a state of excited confusion, wondering why the commotion and when the next fatty nubbin would make it’s way down the stairs.

One rule of the house is to never ask “What’s next.”

We don’t want to know. But Squirt sure does.

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