We lead the puppy to the carefully arranged newspaper. He’s four months old now, and to my way of thinking, he should be starting to get the hang of this by now.
“Gotta pee?” I prompt him. “Gotta pee?”
He stares at me for a while, then sits down, cocks his head and stares at me some more.
“He’s dumbfounded,” my son says.
“He certainly is.”
We’ve got a dumbfounded dog on our hands, no question about it . . .