addendum

There was the one time that Waylon tee-teed in his mouth. I forgot that. That was nuts. I couldn't stop it or block it or get it under control - like a lose fire hose.

And the very next night (from my original post), Stella showed Waylon how to eat poop. Sure enough. I left the two of them in the back yard for all of 10 seconds and come around the corner to find Waylon with another decrepit turd IN HIS MOUTH. He knew he was busted. Either that or I terrified him with my scream and stupefied him with my lightening speed and vicious retrieval. Either way, he pulled it out as soon as he saw the horror on my face.

I might suggest that it was the same turd from the night before (Why, you're wondering, don't they scoop the poop out of the yard? I don't have an answer for you.) But the moment I wrestled the inaugural turd from his clammy hand, I launched it over our fence in the direction of the dog park, without considering any passers-by. There were no screams or yelps immediately following the flight, so I assume no animals or people were injured in the making of this short, animated film.

To do this weekend:
1. Scoop poop in back yard. And front yard. And side yard. Just in case.

For the first time this very morning, Waylon led me to his room to put him down for his morning nap, more or less. We were watching a little show and he disappeared around the corner, returning a minute or so later with his Blanket. He snuggles into me for a minute, then puts himself down and heads back down the hall, stopping halfway and looking back at me as if to say, Come with me, please. So I did. Straight to his crib, where he reached for his pacifier, then turned and flung himself on the rocking chair. Ok, ok. I get it. Nap time. You got it, man.

Since Waylon is now allowed in the kitchen, he is spending more and more time with the dogs, who are only allowed in the kitchen. While Stella is obviously the more spirited and energetic of the two, she remains slightly skeptical and nervous of this pint-sized person batting at her head and tugging her tail and whiskers. Waylon tried to win her over for a minute. He chased her round and round the kitchen with a ball, but she would have none of it. He could chase her with a goldfish and they might be buds. Brock, on the other hand, is a bump on a log most of the time. A very in-the-way bump that tends to create tricky obstacles for Waylon to maneuver around. But what he lacks in energy, he more than makes up for with patience and gentle curiosity. What I'm trying to say is that I think he loves Waylon. I think they love each other. It's so cute (never have you ever heard me say anything positive about Brock, right?) The downside is that Brock has no idea he outweighs Waylon by 100 pounds. He's knocked him around a time or five. And when Waylon offers Brock the ball (he hasn't figured out the smartest thing is to just throw it to him), as gentle as he tries to be, Brock takes Waylon's entire arm in his mouth. Waylon just makes that famous face, then takes the ball back.

Waylon is a share-baby. He offers everything to Brock and Stella...and the rocking horse in his room that he thinks is the strangest dog he's ever seen. He offers milk and balls and rocks and leaves and food. I enjoy Waylon interacting with the dogs. I just hope he learns caution as well as generosity. And I wish they were hairless. And both girls.