So I go to the bathroom to wash some stuff off and, here's where we make our big mistake, Deb goes into the living room to investigate for herself. The next thing I know, Deb's yelling at Angel, who's dropping a big ball of my cookie dough in the hallway outside the bathroom. Dammit. Damn dog. But it was really our fault for turning our backs on her for a second while there was food on the counter.

Heh, heh, good natured chuckle. Dogs will be dogs. No, Deb, don't try to save the ball of cookie dough that she dropped. Just toss it. Geez, what were we thinking?

Then I looked at my cookie sheets. Deb had caught her on the FOURTH cookie. The FOURTH. The recipe only made 16. That's 25 percent of my cookies gone down the black dog-gullet hole or in the trash. Damn dog.

I wanted to go pee in her toy box myself. That'd show her.

Newsflash: Jake just got the motorcycle started! Yay!

She's been working on that for days now. Ended up having to get a new battery. I happened to be in the utility room when she was cranking it up. I heard rurrr rurrr rurrr (the sound of non-starting) and thought, "oh shit." Then it went rurrr-bbbbbrrrrummmm-mmmm-mmmmm (the sound of starting). I came out the back door and yelled "Yay!" Jake honked the horn and looked enormously relieved. I asked if I could bring her a helmet.

Jake: Nah. [Dismounts and hobbles up to back porch.] Can't ride it. I kinda sprained my right calf yesterday.

Badsnake: Oh, no! Damn.

Jake: [In a sort of good ol' dyke drawl] Ah, that's all right. I did it fuckin' yer wife.

Heh. I love my family.

Jake's decided she might have to ride it around the block a time or seventeen after all.