Put the darned phone away!

I hate Mom’s phone. It is an even bigger attention whore than I am! Or, perhaps I mean that it is an even *better* attention whore than I am because it can frequently get her attention when I can’t. This morning, just as Mom was about to take me out the door, the stupid thing barked at her and she put down the leash for a minute to play with it. “MooooOOOOooom!” I grumped. “Look at ME!” This was supposed to be our special one-on-one bonding time, and her phone was ruining it.
“Hang on, just a second,” she said, not even looking up from the stupid phone. “I just need to open this call, and then we can go. I just have to wait till everyone’s on, and then I can hang up.” I rolled my eyes. We left a minute later, but we weren’t even out of the driveway before she looked down again. I yanked on the leash with my teeth. I hoped that she forgot to mute herself, and everyone inside the phone would have to listen to her slurping and gorking as she ran.

As we started to run, I started to feel a poop brewing. Sometimes poops come without drama, but sometimes you need to put a little more work into it. This morning my poop needed a little coaxing (maybe it was the mini bag of Peanut M&M’s I stole yesterday blocking me up). I stopped Mom a total of 6 times before I finally hit pay dirt. Each time Mom got more and more aggravated. “C’mon, Oscar! Are you pooping or just sniffing! I’m not playing around! I’m running late!” Mom grumped at me.
“Maybe you wouldn’t be so darned late if you weren’t checking your phone every 5 seconds…” I shot back. She started running again, dragging me behind her. I had circled and sniffed the same spot 8 times, but I was pretty sure that the 9th time around would have shaken the poop loose.

Finally, after about 25 minutes, Mom stopped running, pulled out her phone again, and started poking at it. It was trash day, and there was another toilet at the side of the road with a “free” sign. “Oscar! Oscar! Come sit on the toilet lid so that I can take a picture!” she said.
You have got to be freaking kidding me, I thought. “No, I’m not getting on the damned toilet. If you didn’t have time to stop and let me poo, I’m not going to sit on a toilet so you can take an embarrassing picture of me.”
“Okay, fine. Then stand next to the toilet and look at me. Oscar! Oscar! Look at me! Oscar!”
“For the last time: I’m not posing for a picture with a toilet!” She snapped the picture anyway.

I’d had enough of that damned phone. I concentrated all of my superheated brain waves at her phone and sent it death thoughts until… It died! For the rest of the run, Mom could not get the stupid thing to turn on for more than 10 seconds before it croaked again! Mom was distraught. “Grrrrrraaarrr!” she screamed, which in Dog means, “No! Phone! Phone! Come back to me! I love you!” Serves you right, I thought as the universe shifted and I was finally able to have a bowel movement.

I win this round, dumb phone!

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