On the occasion of Mrs. Fangbolt, from two streets over, bringing her Mastiff / Rottweiler cross into our neighbourhood. Booger's leash is safely stored in Mrs. F's front hall, in case she needs it.
(Booger darts across the road and leaps our low fence, which encloses the yard where our harmless little terrier Maxie is sniffing a tulip)
"Booger, C'mere! Don't worry he's very friendly. Absolutely loves little dogs, dontcha, Booger?"
(Booger mulches an entire bed of tulips in his attempt to puncture Maxie's larynx)
"Booger, NO! BAD Booger! I don't understand it, he has never done that before." She means, of course, that Booger usually kills with his first bite, and she can't understand how he missed the mark this time.
(With Maxie safely concealed in a crawlspace under the house, Booger is now free to hump my wife's leg)
"BAD Booger! NAUGHTY Booger! Oh, he's being a bad dog today!" This is Mrs. Fangbolt's grudging acknowledgment of the fact that Booger's inferior humping skills have failed to cause a pregnancy in my wife's leg.
(Booger takes a dump on our Welcome mat, and Mrs. Fangbolt makes no cursory gesture to withdraw a doggy-do bag from her pocket, because she never uses them)
"Booger, NO! Oh, I'm so EMBARRASSED! Good thing he did it there, that should clean up nicely." This reflects Mrs. F's abandonment of any responsibility, coupled with her sincere hope that we won't attempt to clean it until she is gone because she absolutely gags when there is poo.
(Booger, having failed at gardening, murder and cross-pollination, but having successfully offloaded his Dog Chow, recognizes that it's time to leave)
"Attaboy, Booger. Such a nice day, isn't it? Byeeee!" This diversionary tactic indicates that Booger's overwhelming dogness will force Mrs. F to add our street to her No Fly list. We breathe a sigh of relief as she leaves, and retrieve Maxie from the crawlspace. We will egg her house after dark tonight.