Last night Gilly and I were playing soccer with Jetty when she started shrieking in that awful pitch that only young girls can reach. “Mommmm, gross. He’s got something stuck in his nozzle.” Well, my first thought was—I hope it’s nothing fatal, because there’s no way I’m touching his nozzle.
Eventually I realized that the neighbours could probably hear us, so I had to pretend to be a grown up and overcome my intense desire to run away. I joined them to see what she was talking about. She kept pointing at him and groaning, but she was pointing at his head. I asked her to be more specific about what she meant (ok, really I just kept shouting WHAT? at her). “His nozzle, Mummy, his nozzle - there’s something in there.”
The penny finally dropped; I asked her if, perhaps, she meant nostril, not nozzle. Yes, she did. It turns out it was nothing to worry about, just a booger. And who knew dogs even had boogers? This dog ownership thing just gets better and better. Pass the wine.
Eventually I realized that the neighbours could probably hear us, so I had to pretend to be a grown up and overcome my intense desire to run away. I joined them to see what she was talking about. She kept pointing at him and groaning, but she was pointing at his head. I asked her to be more specific about what she meant (ok, really I just kept shouting WHAT? at her). “His nozzle, Mummy, his nozzle - there’s something in there.”
The penny finally dropped; I asked her if, perhaps, she meant nostril, not nozzle. Yes, she did. It turns out it was nothing to worry about, just a booger. And who knew dogs even had boogers? This dog ownership thing just gets better and better. Pass the wine.
