Porter Grows a Conscience

This morning while I was in the shower, Porter inexplicably EL DESTRUCTO-d B's down-alternative comforter. It looked like someone murdered the Stay Puft Marshmallow man in the bedroom.

Here he is, feeling considerable shame, which was, until this morning, a totally foreign emotion for the little man:


He can't even bear to look at me. I forgave him about five seconds after the initial rush of, "Oh, you awful, awful dog," (which I may or may not have said out loud, in a disgusted tone of voice, while stomping around acting stormy) faded.


I mean, have you EVER? It's just not fair.