"Mama," my daughter said. "I think our dog needs some yonkerdoodles."
"Yonker what?" I said.
"Do you mind telling me what the heck yonkerdoodles are?"
"They're tickets to jail. A kid got them on Ant Farm because a walrus sat him."
Okay. I'm not sure I follow that train of thought, but I'll go with it.
"Why do you think Schultz needs a yonkerdoodle?" I asked, curious to know what kind of trouble our wayward German Shepherd got into.
"He ate my dinner. And Bubba's dinner."
Uh oh. "How did that happen?" I asked. "I thought you were done eating."
"Yeah, but we didn't eat everything, and we forgot to put our plates on the counter. Schultz licked our plates clean."
So what do you think? Should I give him a yonkerdoodle, or make him our family's official dish washer?