Coco has a really nasty habit of getting into the trash. It's irresistible to her, like catnip to a cat. The trash is like a "Coconip". She knows better, of course. She's smart enough. She just absolutely can't resist a fresh chicken carcass or food-soaked paper towel if one is in the trash nearby. So we sit in the living room and listen for the telltale signs of Coco's trash addiction: little feet shuffling, bags rustling, or the dead giveaway, too much quiet coming from the kitchen, and and no Coco to be seen.
The other day I made chicken burritos for dinner. The aroma filled the air. Prime conditions for the garbage dingo. Time passed and we were distracted...
Coco really thought she had gotten away with it. The rustling wasn't noticed. Her absence too, went unregarded. But then she blew it.
Out from the kitchen came prancing Coco, smug as usual, but with an empty grocery bag wrapped around her neck and her head coated in nasty chicken grease. We could smell her ten feet away.
SO Busted.
1 comment:
Sometimes I read your blogs just to see what the hec the title means. Good one..
Post a Comment