stray

"and you know who's going to have to clean this up, of course."

yes, nadine; it's you.

"and do they ever think for a moment about the consequences?"

no, nadine. they obviously do not.

"how many times - oof - have i told them that - oof - they can't bring in any old cur they find on the street?"

i can remember you telling them at least twice before this, nadine.

"and here i am again, scrubbing paw prints out of carpet. am i doing this for my health?"

no, nadine. your joint pain could not possibly be benefiting from this floor work.

"i should tan their hides...oh, they'll bawl, and I'll be the bad guy...but who's the one who'll be scrubbing the floor again next time they find some mongrel, eh?"

it will be you, nadine.

"dog-mad, they are. but if i'd went out, got them one for christmas like they asked, who'd end up feeding it, eh? walking it? would they be outside at four in the morning so it could squat on the lawn?"

almost certainly not, nadine. children under ten sleep remarkably soundly.

"dig up my yard, track on my floors, eat me out of house and home...i'm supposed to pay for this privilege?"

apparently so, nadine.

"can you believe this - the third time i've told them! the third time!"

it is hard to believe, nadine; but your tally is correct.

"how many times am i supposed to just get down here, hands and knees, and not say a word?"

i couldn't tell you, nadine.

"is there any reason for this, any at all..."

i am also unclear why they would bring a dog to you after repeated scoldings, nadine.

"oh, just look at this - look!"

i see, nadine. the dirt is quite well ground-in.

"they don't hear a word of it - but if i gave them a spanking, tried to leave an impression, what would i be?"

the bad guy, nadine.

"never listen - no one ever listens."

i do, nadine. i do.