Caroline and I were outside, where I was brushing our incredible shedding basselope (he's really a basset hound/German shepherd/doberman mix, don't ask). He hates this process and ran away from me and hid in the corner of the yard. Since I'm still recovering from a c-section and can't exactly chase or wrestle a 50 pound walrus with 6" legs, Caroline decided she would do the dirty work for me.
I called to him several times. She got tired of waiting.
"I'm going to go have a little talk with him," she said sternly.
She marched over with her little fists tight and crouched next to him and was talking to him in low tones I could not hear. It looked very serious.
She stood up and pointed at me. He did not move.
She threw her hands in the air. "This dog must not understand me. Or maybe he's just impossible!"