When I was a young lad we had a German shepherd mix whose name was Mr. Toots… a most flatulent dog was he, hence the name.
On the night before Christmas it was tradition in our house for us kids to open the one gift from our parents. My little brother, who was five at the time, got a toy dump truck.
My two brothers and I shared a large room and Mr. Toots, our constant companion and protector, slept on a doggie pallet on the floor of our bedroom. Sometime during the night my little brother could not resist the urge to play with his new truck and so downstairs he crept. Mr. Toots, always ready for an adventure, followed.
Since it was dark out and he couldn’t load his dump truck with dirt from the yard, my brother loaded his truck from the dog food sack. He drove that truck, dumping load after load of dog food across the floors until the sack was empty. Mr. Toots, being the chowhound that he was, happily came behind and gobbled up the tasty mounds.
Early Christmas morning we all rushed downstairs to see what gifts Santa had left. What we found was Mr. Toots fast asleep under the Christmas tree and the house stinking something awful. Mr. Toots had left piles of smelly presents of his own in every room.
My mother was mortified, my dad was not pleased and my brothers and I were charged with cleaning up the mess before we were allowed to open Santa’s gifts.
I remembered that Christmas morning from my childhood after coming across a photo of Mr. Toots. He’s been gone now for many decades but I still recall how much I loved that dog.
On the night before Christmas it was tradition in our house for us kids to open the one gift from our parents. My little brother, who was five at the time, got a toy dump truck.
My two brothers and I shared a large room and Mr. Toots, our constant companion and protector, slept on a doggie pallet on the floor of our bedroom. Sometime during the night my little brother could not resist the urge to play with his new truck and so downstairs he crept. Mr. Toots, always ready for an adventure, followed.
Since it was dark out and he couldn’t load his dump truck with dirt from the yard, my brother loaded his truck from the dog food sack. He drove that truck, dumping load after load of dog food across the floors until the sack was empty. Mr. Toots, being the chowhound that he was, happily came behind and gobbled up the tasty mounds.
Early Christmas morning we all rushed downstairs to see what gifts Santa had left. What we found was Mr. Toots fast asleep under the Christmas tree and the house stinking something awful. Mr. Toots had left piles of smelly presents of his own in every room.
My mother was mortified, my dad was not pleased and my brothers and I were charged with cleaning up the mess before we were allowed to open Santa’s gifts.
I remembered that Christmas morning from my childhood after coming across a photo of Mr. Toots. He’s been gone now for many decades but I still recall how much I loved that dog.
