THE "POOP" CONVERSATION

"Oh, no," I said. "Kramer pooped on the floor."

"Where," Phil said.

"By the computer."

"Wow, I could have stepped in it."

I wrapped the poop in tissues--it was fairly fresh--you get all the nitty-gritty details here, folks. Then I took it upstairs because Phil was going to bed and wanted to have family prayer. But I continued on up the second set of stairs.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"To put the poop in the toilet. You think I was going to hold it while you prayed?"

"I didn't know you had it."

"You didn't think I'd leave it there did you?" Honestly, sometimes men can be so dense.

So I dumped and flushed and washed my hands and when I got to the living room Phil was deep in a conversation with Kramer--the Pooper. Maybe he was the Poopee, some grammar Nazi should let me know.

"Kramer, you must not poop in the house. If you have to 'go' while we are gone you must just be a big boy and hold it. Okay?"

Phil is sitting in the chair and Kramer is standing on his hind legs, with his front legs resting on Phil's leg. I swear, Kramer was smiling and nodding and saying, "Yes, yes, I'll do that. I'll hold it like a big dog." But then I can hear Kramer saying to himself, The carpet is as good a place as anywhere. The cats poop in the house. I think I should have equal rights.

But Phil has a believing heart and thinks that Kramer will obey.

I am a realist. Kramer will poop on the floor.

He poops outside if one of us says, "Do you want to go outside?" But, actually he really thinks we say, "Do you want to go outside so you can pounce on bugs and bark at that German Shepard." (That dog, which could eat Kramer in one gulp, by the way, is staying in the house behind us). Please, Powers-that-be, let that dog be a visitor or we will hear, "barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark," all winter. And then he will bark some more, in case that wasn't enough.

And then he will think his outside work is done.

And then he will come in the house and poop on the floor. I just know it.

I SHOULDN'T BE BLOGGING

I shouldn't be blogging. I'm dead on my feet. I still have manuscripts to read before my Writer's for Young Reader's class tomorrow. Claudia Mills is my teacher and she's fabulous. If you ever "do" Writer's for Young Readers and Claudia is teaching you should be in her class. She is also nice. How can anyone be so nice? Nice and talent sometimes don't go together but she makes it work. And she's a philosophy professor at University of Colorado. So she's smart, talented, nice and funny. She got several people's talent and they are left with only their bodily functions, functioning. Probably.

I follow 42 blogs plus there are several more I check daily that don't have the "follower" feature, but I only read three tonight. I read my daughter's , because she's my daughter and she blogged about me, my daughter-in-laws, because I love her like a daughter and then there is Shan, who's title pulled me right in: The Three Pound Poop. I had to read that one. I looked at all the others with longing but had to save them for tomorrow.

Lord Bumhampton had a friend once who had a similar problem as Shan's little friend. He left an offering in the downstairs toilet. It wouldn't flush. That is the honest truth. It was impressive! It wouldn't flush for many times. He was a good sport about it and later told me, "All my family have the same problem but we solved it. We now take fiber!"

So, if you have a poopage problem, take a little fiber. And if you don't you should probably write something. Or blog. Or be a philosophy professor. Or at least be nice.

And when this week is over I have another Mrs. Bird story to tell you. Stay tuned.

PS I probably shouldn't say the word, "poop" on a blog should I? When I typed it into the "labels" I see I've talked about it before. I really should repent. Probably.

SIX WORDS FOR CUT WORDS

She won't clean chicken coop poop.