Marty is hugging me. We are separated by the bottom half of the Dutch door leading into our den. We're having a nice moment, when he exclaims loudly to our boy dog,
"Winger! Dude! That is some awful, bad, poo breath you have!"
Sheepishly: "That's not Winger. It's me..." (and it wasn't my breath either. The other end....)
He couldn't stop laughing for about five minutes.
Lucky for me, I laughed too.
But still....mortifying. Usually the dog gets blamed.