I get into so much trouble and half the time I don't even know why---like today. My dad had diarrhea and since he's wheelchair bound, he didn't have enough time to make on the toilet before it hit. Mom got him in the shower and was trying to get Pop's poop cleaned up off the floor and the wheelchair but she's so inept that she got it on her sweater sleeves and everywhere else but the ceiling. Boy, did that smell good! I was happy to be in the room.
Then mom took the gel pad off my dad's wheelchair and leaned it up against the wall and I thought, "Oh, boy, she's going to let me help clean up the mess." I was licking away while my mom showering dad's butt off when she saw what I was doing. And instead of praising me for being such a good little helper, she yelled at me! What in the world is wrong with that woman? She's too old for PMS. She snapped off her rubber gloves, telling my dad she didn't want to get poop on me as well---as if I'd care, it smelled so good!---and she grabbed me by the collar, making me leave the bathroom.
So now I'm pouting in my bedroom-slash-the laundry room and wondering why she didn't use the 'S' word even once while all this was going on. I don't understand the subtle nuances of when and when not to say the 'S' word. Mom says it all the time, but she tells Dad he can't. ©
Welcome to The Levi and Cooper Chronicles. I'm the 'Cooper' and my baby brother is the 'Levi.' We're not siblings in the literal sense of the word. He's a miniature schnauzer and I'm a miniature poodle but our differences go far beyond our breed. You see, I'm the famous angel dog who blogs from the