Briscoe has decided that his very important job in the family is to rid our house of any and all buttons. He takes this self-appointed job quite seriously and frequently patrols the commonly infested rooms with fervor. He doesn't ingest the buttons, just bites them off our clothing and generally mangles them beyond hope of reattachment. It is only funny when it doesn't happen to you. For example, when he went on a rampage and pulled 5 pairs of Mr. Man's dress pants off their hanger and took care of every last button on each one of them...pretty amusing. We keep the closet under lock and key at all times now because, while we may be made of buttons, we aren't made of pants replacing money.
Now, when I walked into this...
Not funny! Bad dog. Baaaaad. In his unflappable quest for buttons he pulled my jacket down off the chair and proceeded to do his job. Quite well. Oh Boo-boo, you are such a fluffy pain in my butt. But you do force us to keep a tidy home.
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