So I've got some brats on the grill and I'm inside folding laundry and tending to other chick-work around the house. (Note to self: find a chick to do this stuff.)
Naturally I'm not paying attention to the grill, but when I happen to look, I see thick smoke roiling off the grill. The brats had caught fire.
Now back in the old days, Lagniappe would have been barking his fool head off to warn me. Lagniappe knew that fire is bad, especially when it's my dinner. He always barked when my food was burning, be it on the grill or in the kitchen.
But Murphy? Not so much. He was actually sitting in front of that grill, staring at the smoke like that stupid RCA dog looking at the Victrola.
Fortunately I was able to save my food, no thanks to my "faithful pal".
Hey! If those are too burned for you to eat, can I get one of those with mustard?
Maybe he's not as dumb as I thought.