Too Many Things to Sniff

This is Dickens. Every morning at 5:30, Daddy takes Bob and then me outside so we can do our business. The last couple of mornings, I've been too busy barking and sniffing the air to bother with pooping. This gets daddy mad. He pulls on my leash and urges me to do the "poopie dance," where I walk back and forth and go in ever smaller circles until I find the exact place to poop. When I don't feel like pooping, I just plant all four feet on the ground and give him a defiant look, which of course makes him madder. As Bob has told you, it's fun to make Daddy mad. I know that I can always poop in the kitchen. Daddy doesn't like it, and I don't get a treat out of the deal, but lucky for me, Daddy isn't of the rub-their-faces-in-it school. I just hang my head and act all dumb and ashamed, and Daddy sighs, gets a wad of toilet paper and cleans it up. I can get away with all of this, because I'm the kissie dog, and I kiss Daddy's face while looking at him with my loving, soulful schnoodle eyes!