You Should Have Been in Pictures

But instead, you got into MY pictures. And ate the negatives.

Remember negatives? Vaguely? I had all but forgotten about them until last night. My memory was refreshed when the little dog came prancing into the kitchen with a stream of negatives hanging out of his mouth. He looked at me as if I had sent him on a long scavenger hunt, and he had won. Want to know where they came from? A storage container in my closet that he somehow opened. We can either guess that he's the only dog on the planet with a pincer grasp, or, more likely, that he chewed the bin open with his sharp little teeth. This was one of his hardest jobs yet, because not only did he have to get into that storage bin, but then he had to chew open the little film container where the negatives were stored.

I can't even scream at him for being s-t-u. (That's code for "stupid" at our house, because we're not allowed to use that word...) At this point, I would definitely settle for s-t-u, versus e-v-i-l and d-e-s-t-r-u-c-t-i-v-e.

ChellBell's word for the little dog is the best. Disaster. Or Deesaster if you happen to spell phonetically. Seeing how un-s-t-u this dog is, she put a sign on her door to clearly communicate her thoughts (honestly, if he can find the negatives in a film container in a storage bin, surely the dog can read):