Ever wonder why humans are always recycling words and assigning them different meanings rather than just make up new and unambiguous language?
Take, for example, this true story which happened just last week.
There I was, relaxing at home with the RH when I suddenly found myself feeling quite full and a bit anxious in my lower regions.
Knowing that momma would be at the work place for some hours and the comings and goings of Master are not deterministic, I pondered over how to relieve myself without creating a discrete, but distasteful pile in my living area.
In a moment of what I can only characterize as pure genius, I recalled the upstairs storage area which momma is always remarking is "full of crap." Well, actually, she uses a different word, but being a gentleman, I'll stick with "crap" for this story.
"Well," I said to myself, "Dexter, you are a clever scoundrel. Clearly the reason momma and master don't actual live upstairs is because the upper floor is an extended crap area. How convenient."
Up I go and deposit what I have to admit was an artfully placed pile of labralogs right in the crap room.
I watched anxiously the next morning when momma went upstairs to get her work place outfit.
Imagine my surprise when she came back down not to congratulate me on my cleverness, but to express concern to Master over the "large pile of *crap*" in the storage room. Oh dear, where had I gone wrong?
To make matters worse, I thought that I had misunderstood and that perhaps the "crap" room actually somehow meant the guest room where momma takes her Saturday naps.
Cautious, but determined, I made a couple of deposits there the very next day, only to be met with the same furrowed brow where I had hoped for a big hug and fawning over my resourcefulness.
Now, access to the upstairs has been denied.
The moral of the story? Well, one can only conclude that "crap" and the more vulgar word that momma uses with great relish, is yet another example of humans talking in context dependent code. So make sure you are clear on their meaning before you take action.
P.S. Momma says I am a total freak-a-zoid who will only potty on walkies and insists on holding it until I have an emergency rather than despoil my play yard. I wonder if that is code for "Dexter is the best labradog in the world."
She also says that she pledges to take me on more walkies so that I can potty in the locations of my choice. Now those are words I understand completely.