Bubba: You should know. Just think about it.
Max: Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. Got nothin'.
Bubba: Isn’t that just like a guy, totally unaware.
Max: And isn’t that just like a girl, thinking we guys should be mind readers. In touch with our feelings and like that.
Bubba: (sigh) Good point. Okay, I’m mad because you got to go on a special trip with Mom and Dad Saturday night.
Max: You won’t be mad when I tell you where we went.
Bubba: (cocking her ears) I’m all ears. Where did you go?
Max: Beats me. It was a place with metal tables and a man in a white coat and they put me in a cage and stuck a needle in me and made me hurl my dinner.
Bubba: Eeewwww. Why?
Max: Beats me. When Mom carried me in the door she told a woman something about morning glory leaves and then the woman yelled, “Triage to the lobby.” Then another woman came and took me down a hall and after I puked they squirted this saline stuff under my skin and made me eat charcoal.
Bubba: I thought charcoal is what Dad cooks with in the barbecue.
Max: Me too, but I guess the guy in the white coat cooks with something else, because he told Mom he wanted to give me some to eat to clean out the toxins.
Bubba: (shuddering) Ugh. I’m glad I have sense enough not to eat stuff that’s bad for me.
Max: Hey, how was I to know? Mom had these plants in a pot by the window. They were green, just like the lettuce she gives us sometimes. And they were down where I could reach them. It coulda happened to any dog.
Bubba: (sotto voice) Any dog with a brain the size of a pistachio nut. (aloud) Yeah, I guess it could.
Max: And I thought all the stuff on the floor was mine to chew on. You know, like all our toys and Dad’s underwear, and the cardboard cylinders that fall out of the recycling, and the carrot pieces that get away from Mom when she’s making salad.
Bubba: (sighing) Maybe we need to review what we find on the ground and what’s safe to eat and what isn’t.
Max: Okay. Good idea. Good idea. How about those chewie things Mom brings home from the store?
Bubba: Check.
Max: Peanut butter toast crumbs?
Bubba: Check.
Max: The crunchie stuff that falls out of our Orbo toys?
Bubba: Check.
Max: Pizza crusts.
Bubba: Check. But only if Dad doesn’t say, “Leave it.”
Max: Leave it. Okay. Okay. What about stuff outside, like frogs and toads?
Bubba: Eeewww. If you so much as lick a toad, you’re never grooming my face again. Besides, Dad says licking toads can make you hallucinate.
Max: What-in-ate?
Bubba: See things that aren’t there.
Max: There where?
Bubba: What?
Max: Or here where?
Bubba: Anywhere! Everwhere!
Max: Underwear. Silverware. This is fun! Rainwear. Teddy bear. Brush your hair. Double-dog dare.
Bubba: Stop! You’re giving me a headache.
Max: Oh, sorry. I’ll run get Mom and Dad so they can take you to the man who makes you puke and then you’ll be all better.
Bubba: No, don’t! Hey, look outside, it’s a—
Max: (turning on a dime and racing the other way) Squirrel!
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