With 2 large dogs and one toddler boy, it was bound to happen.

Yup. I'm talking poop. Dog poop. Playing with it.

So, picture the scene. Idyllic morning in the sunshine, enjoying the green grass of the backyard, frolicking with the dogs and laughing. Me, with the poop scoop, clearing the yard of landmines.

I glance over, and see Zach sitting in the grass and laughing as he throws something brownish at Sidney. "Please, let that be a pinecone," I pray as I go over to investigate.

Nope. Poop. All over his hands, shirt and pants. Luckily (?) it wasn't extraordinarily squishy--it was a bit crumbly, so not as horrific as it could have been. (What?!?!?!)

Zach laughed his head off as I ushered him from the rear (picture a hovercraft...his feet barely touched ground) to the house--trying desperately to keep that thumb OUT of his mouth, and to keep the poop OFF of ME...

I had to laugh too. What else could I do?