Look Who's Coming To Dinner, & Look What He's Leaving "Behind"

Chuckle #403 | April 28th, 2010
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Forget about the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, the real bonding among women occurs within the “Sisterhood of the Traveling Wives.” Call it estrogen induced dubiety, or simply a group vote of “no confidence”, but when a dad is left alone with his children for an extended period of time, the “sisterhood” deploys a crack team of “watch moms” to ensure that all goes well.

Sometimes three pages of written instructions, cleaning lady back-up, and a nanny cam is not enough. Dad’s sanity, the kids’ welfare, and the traveling mom’s peace of mind are all at stake. The Sisterhood’s prime directive is clear. Observe and report. And if necessary, intervene.

As part of my sisterhood duties, I recently invited one such abandoned dad over for dinner. He had been on his own with his kids for a full week, so a close-up inspection was warranted. And since they just got a dog, and we have a dog; we included the new puppy in the dinner invitation.

The problem with puppies is that they are unreliable. The bigger problem is that they don’t wear diapers. An even bigger problem is that this DAD didn’t know “squat” about dogs. He never wanted one in the first place, and up until now (per paragraph three of the puppy pre-nup), Mom’s been in charge. So when the visiting puppy got over excited – new place, new friends, underdeveloped holding tanks - you get the picture.

The evening started out well. Our friend busied himself steaming up the homemade Chinese “dumplings” that he had brought. They were very delicious. Because he was working so hard, we felt that we should only delicately point out that his dog was in the process of taking a “dump” on our kitchen floor. I give him credit for his quick, but ill conceived response of waving his dumpling spatula in the air and going berserk in an attempt to “stop the drop”. But as all dog owners know (except this one) once this process has begun, it cannot be put on “paws”.

There was a brief moment in which I thought the spatula would be put to use as a pooper scooper, because it was conveniently in hand, and would have been the quickest way to remove the offending pile from sight, but it wasn’t. I don’t blame the dad, he is quite a chef, and it was a very nice spatula. I have a fancy ladle that I would probably not use to drain a clogged toilet, either.

Ultimately the children were called in and unlike their dad, efficiently whisked away both poo and pup. If MOM had been present, the puppy’s signals would not have been missed. “Butt” on the positive side, every time I see my friend I now get to say, “When you said you were bringing “DUMP-lings, I didn’t know you meant canine!” Which for some reason he doesn’t find funny, but nearly every one else does.

Despite the very real "foulness" of indoor canine poop, we assured our friend, “no harm, no foul”. The puppy on the other hand, was traumatized. The mere gleam of a spatula may now be enough to cause a lifetime of involuntary bowel movements, a sad and somewhat unusual side effect of Chinese dumplings, a trip to Greece and being left alone with “dad”.  At least it wasn't one of the kids.

So the official “sisterhood” report to my traveling friend was: “Kids fine, Puppy in therapy, Husband apoplectic, You Grounded. Stay in Greece!”
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