Your Witness, Counselor"Mommy, can I have my bowl of eyeballs?" When I hear that, I know it must be close to Halloween. If it's not, then I need to call every medical lab within a three state area, and right away.
We went on a walk today (my walk, his ride) and started talking. With Eli 3.2, the conversation can go from dinosaurs to spaceships to Tweety Bird to pasta, sometimes in the same sentence.
"What do dogs eat?" Eli 3.2 asks.
"Well, they eat quite a few things," I say. "Some of them eat hard food that's made just for them, and they eat meat, and some dogs eat table scraps, which are leftover food from your plate. Dogs can eat just about anything but chocolate."
"Why not chocolate?"
"Because chocolate makes them sick. It can hurt them."
"But my dog will eat chocolate." This is Schrödinger's dog--the very act of me thinking about having one makes it cease to exist.
"No dog should eat chocolate," I say.
"My special dog will eat chocolate," Eli 3.2 says. "He's very, very special."
"Eli, it doesn't matter how special he is. He can't eat chocolate. It's not safe."
"No no no! Let me tell you something. He is very, very, very special, and he eats all chocolate."
"Eli, he just can't eat chocolate, no matter how special he is. Dogs can't eat chocolate."
"But what if my dog is MADE out of chocolate?"
I salute you, Perry Mason.
"Little man, if your dog is made out of chocolate, then I think he should be able to eat chocolate."
"Hooray!" he says. "My very special dog eats CHOCOLATE!"
That's me--Hamilton Burger, District Attorney.