the. bungalow. post.

It's Sam.  There are rumors within our pack that he might go rogue.  There are signs that are getting harder and harder to ignore.  The past full moon cycle, his hair sprung out from his head a whole inch and no two hairs agreed with another about which way to grow.  After the moon waned to a crescent, his hair settled.  But then there is the screaming for deli meat, the clawing at his high chair, the relentless sniffing across the floor for fallen food.  His bond with the German Shepherd is tightening.  They share the same obsession for the garden hose.  The other night, Gunther was using a blankie during his "rest time".  The lines between boy and dog are beginning to blur. 
Then it happened one quiet morning.  Gunther or Sam couldn't give us a straight answer.  No witnesses, just the carnage of the aftermath. 
Have you ever seen the juices of a caterpillar undergoing it's transformation into it's flying self?  I haven't.  Then I did.  The iodine colored pulp that dissolves the caterpillar into a soup with bits of muscle and organ chunks was smeared across Sam's once "world's most kissable lips".  The dried bits of the chrysalis were scattered at his feet.  I gagged. 

The other night all the kids were playing in their bedroom, when Ender comes stumbling down the hallway wailing at the top of his lungs and holding his arm.
"Oh what did Cora do?" I ask.
"Sam, mom!  It was Sam!  He bit me!"  shrieked Ender.
Not a second later, I hear desperate screaming coming from the back bedroom.  I go in to find Cora cornered, her jammie pants half way up and Sam beating her over the head with a bamboo stick. She's trapped, desperate, panicking, not even trying to defend herself, or cover her head. 
Sam is enjoying the raucous he raised.  With both big kids crying, he's quite satisfied and toddles off to find something else to do. 

In conclusion the baby has rabies or teething molars.

*note: just mud, I repeat just mud.  Not caterpillar puss  :)