Sticking One's Foot in One's Mouth

I could write a post here extolling the myriad merits of the canine breed. I could craft an impassioned defense of all things doggy - a true love letter to every dog who has ever licked my face when I was sad, wagged his tail when I scratched his ears just so, or grunted with satisfaction when I collapsed on top of her on the couch. I could write that post, and someday I probably will.

But today, as I sat here watching my dog go about her usual business of lounging on the floor no doubt contemplating the relative merits of tennis balls and rope bones, the following thought came to me: I'm really glad I'm a member of a species that doesn't require putting my own feet into my mouth in order to complete the bathing process.