Thank God they have souls

Before I caved and let Dave have a dog; I mean, before we bought Sammy as the golden addition to our family, we tried another dog.
He was a shepherd-lab mix and never got a name because he didn't last long enough.
Not that he died.
No, I imagine that he is alive and well with some other less neurotic family. But, we weren't ready for him at that point in our lives.

My discernment of little woof was completed late one night two days into his stay when I stepped in his pee as I tripped to the kitchen in the dark. With two-year old twins still in diapers, my first thought was: I will not do this for a creature that doesn't have a soul.
And back to the breeder went no-name.

Poor Dave, he had to drive a lonely 2.5 hour journey with a nameless pup to ask for his money back and try to explain that his wife, ummm, has allergies to dogs. By accident we failed to return the blanket in which the pup had come - I still remember him every time the slightly ragged, blue towel catches my eye in the linen closet.

So, all that is a lead up to the fact that my children have souls. And I am glad of it. Because if I step in their pee, I might be perturbed, but I won't bring them back.

Which provides a segue-way to this afternoon's events.

Midway through our afternoon movie, Ben got up, walked over to the french doors, lifted the vent cover and peed.

I guess that at some point he also pulled down his pants.

There is nothing like the sound of pee falling from the height of two feet into the metal interior of a heating duct to rise a mother from her afternoon snooze in the Lazy Boy.

"What were you thinking?"
"I just needed to go pee."
"Into your room and don't stick you tongue out at me."

Strangely enough I can understand the attraction of peeing into a heating vent. Not for 33-year-old me but perhaps for a four-year-old me. Consequently, I was more intrigued by his reason for peeing than angry at his behaviour.

So, I left him in peeing purgatory for a while before I sat down on his bed to talk about what had happened. When he was sufficiently contrite I asked him, "But, really, why did you do it?"

"Well, when I'm in time-out in my room and I have to pee, I always pee in those holes," pointing to that room's ducts.
Mother's eyes widen. I look inside and see a gooey conglomeration of pine needles, sock fuzz and something that at one point was wet.
I ask weakly: "Really?"
He gathers enthusiasm as he prepares to out his urinary mentor: "Yeah, and once at night I saw Jacob pee right in the middle of the room."
Which has carpet.

The ragged blue towel can stay in their room from now on.