John: “Your dog.”

Me: (Thinking: Oh crap, what did he do? Kill a chicken? Chew on a chair? Steal breakfast off the table?)

John: “Your dog…”

Me (Thinking: Oh it was really bad… He killed all the ducks?  Ate a recliner?  Got into the office and pulled all the books off the shelf trying to get at the dove?)

John: “… has the manners of a goat.”

Me “What did he do?” (Thinking: Crap! John says goats have no manners.  My dog and I are in trouble – what did he do?!  He peed on John? He marked the inside of the house somewhere? He ate the cat?)

John: “Look at my car!”

Me: (Thinking: Is now the time to mention I once found him sitting on the desk with his butt on the keyboard? Probably not)

Sadly for Trip I couldn’t argue his case on this one.  With the  irrefutable evidence before me all I could do was agree…

My dog has the manners (and mannerisms of a goat).

Tonight my goat-dog was chewing on his tin can, I mean, peanut butter jar.