Dirty Sanchez and the Peanut Blossoms

There is no time for homemade Christmas cookies this year. Shame, shame, shame. My Coconut Whisper Clouds, Chocolate Chili Buttercups, and Peanut Butter Blossoms will not pass these lips. But that doesn't mean someone else's won't. Betty Crocker's Peanut Butter Cookie in a tube called to me in the supermarket yesterday. They even had the picture of the Hershey's Kiss on top so you could manufacture your own Blossoms. Darn, I was sold.

In the midst of two babies, a spastic 18-month-old, two dogs, and my four year old, I decided to bake cookies. WTF? Yeah, well, it made sense at the time. I set up Nora on top of the kitchen counter with a one-teaspoon baller, a plate of sugar and the dough and told her to make me proud. I stood to the side, unwrapping Hershey's kisses, ready to plop them on the top fresh, hot cookies.

Midway through the first batch, I had to abandon my task to change a diaper. Maddie had done some serious damage in her pants, and the house was fruity beyond measure. I changed her and was shocked when her diaper was clean. Undaunted, I went back to my business. The bad smell lingered. I swung my head around, looking for the source of the stink. Josh had just been changed, and the infant was sleeping. Nora has been potty-trained for over 3 years, so I strongly doubted she had dealt the dung.

It was then I spied it. Three piles of light-brown poop, peanut butter in color. On the slate . Patrick-size. But I had a hard time believing it was poop. It looked just like the cookie dough. Besides, why would any smart dog crap on the floor? Before launching into a dog-berating tirade I had the common sense (fleeting it was) to make the connection of why there could be dog crap in the kitchen. It didn't take me long to figure it out. The child gate was up, permitting Patrick's access to the doggy door. And he had been standing by the back door for a while, unable to open it given his small stature , and because he's a dog.

I scurried around the kitchen to collect the dog and deposit him outside. I found him underneath Nora, on the floor, licking a mound of....... poop ? Or was it? Was this poop, or was this dough? The color was the same , the consistency the same as the piles on the other side of the kitchen. Could it be we had adopted a dog that Scot would consider keeping forever- one that ate its own waste?! Oh happy day!

Centering myself in the kitchen to have a vantage point of both piles, I realized it was logistically difficult for cookie dough to have ended up by the table, but the possibility of Patrick pooping at locations 10 feet apart was entirely feasible. Had Nora dropped some dough? Or was Patrick eating his own shit? There was only one way to tell.

I bent down and got on the floor. And I SMELLED the small pile. Yes, I took a deep breath. This blossom was peanut. Nora had dropped her own pile of work on the floor.

And Patrick is once again up for adoption.