Murphy's Law for Canines

12.30am in our Living Room

Dog: *Picks up his hard plastic bone and begins gallivanting about the apartment, tossing it casually against the hardwood floor, to the neighbors' downstairs delight, no doubt.*

Matt: Mason, no. Give me that. Find a quiet toy.

Me: Give him something that doesn't squeak... *goes to dog's cabinet of supplies, toys, etc.*

Matt: I wouldn't mind a squeaky toy, but he can't bang a hard plastic bone around on the floor. The people downstairs are gonna kill us.

Me: Here, Mason, your fox.

Matt: Doesn't that squeak?

Me: It has a squeaker, but he doesn't know how to make it squeak. He hasn't figured it out yet. He just chews the ears. *makes toy squeak once for dog, hands it to him.*

****** Three minutes later ******

Dog: *runs by, fox toy in mouth, squeaking it madly.*

Me: ............

Matt: .........

Dog: *continues to gleefully make toy squeak for the next twenty minutes, prancing happily around the apartment, apparently very proud of himself.*

Me: ..........

Dog: *approaches us, chomping voraciously.* SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK. *eyes us. tail wag.* SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK.