So this morning, I'm running late but I'm sharply dressed and otherwise ready to go, just as soon as Murphy takes care of his dog business in the yard.
Murphy, however, decides that he'd rather play and he grabs his toy from the shelf where I've put it. Now as long as he's playing, he won't do his dog business and I won't be able to leave. So I go out and take the toy from him, telling him to do what he's out there to do.
Murphy naturally has other ideas. He jumps up, lunging for the toy, and manages to give me a big muddy paw print on my nice, clean, starched and pressed (light blue) shirt.
I think that my shouting might have woken a couple of neighbors up.
But Murphy at least turned and immediately took care of business, which would suggest to me that when I yelled at him, I literally scared the you-know-what out of him.
The lady at the cleaners thinks this stuff's hilarious. But then she's also laughing all the way to the bank.