Some things in life are inevitable. I can’t remember the last time this didn’t happen:
- Let Homer outside
- Give him plenty of lead time to do his business
- Pick the poop up off the lawn and dispose of it
- Start mowing the lawn
- Homer pinches a loaf right in the middle of the uncut grass
Frickin’ dog. It’s like the First Law of Gastrointestinal Dynamics or something:
Picking up the poop leads to mowing the lawn, which in turn leads to Home-dog dropping a deuce right in my path.
That’s just the way it is. There’s no way around it!
And then he gives me that look, like, "What?"