This morning, the Middle Child, exhausted and sleep-deprived, let slip through her fingers a container of milk. It hit the floor with a thud, splashing milk half-way across the kitchen.
Before we could even say, “Oh no!”, Our Best Friend was in there, cleaning the floor of every last drop. A paper towel or two picked up what he missed. The floor wasn’t even sticky.
There’s a lot less floor-washing to be done when you’ve got a dog on mess duty. But it’s a good thing it wasn’t chocolate milk.