Late yesterday afternoon I was downstairs watching TV while Mrs. Dynamite was upstairs cleaning. Suddenly, I heard her cooing "oh, are you ok?" Followed quickly by "I need your help!"
I ran upstairs to find her holding Mr. Griffey, freaking out. "I was cleaning the shower, and I turned around, and the bar of Irish Spring soap that was on the ground is gone!"
"You think he ate a whole bar of soap?" I couldn't believe it. I mean, Griffey has shown that he's not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I don't think he'd eat a bar of soap. He's an eleven pound munchkin.
"He's got soap in his beard!" She was almost in tears. Griffey did have a little piece of blue soap in his beard, as he looked up at me and wagged his tail.
"Ummm, ok, so, I guess I'll call the vet?" I suggested.
I walked down the hall to our office, where the phone is, and found the bar of soap on the floor, with a few tooth marks in it from where Griffey had carried it. Disaster averted!
Here's what I've been reading the past few days:
Marginal Revolution: Chocolate company bonds that pay chocolate dividends.
James Kwak: "Why Does Steve Ballmer Still Have a Job?"
Jeff Matthews: "The Least Helpful Call You Will Receive Today"