Oh I Love Trash...
Anything dirty or dingy or dusty.
Anything ragged or rotten or rusty.
Yeah, I love trash!
I got me a sneaker that's tattered and worn.
It's all full of holes and the laces are torn.
A gift from my mama the day I was born.
I love it because it's trash!
...and so on and so forth. This is the song my son Bennett would be singing.
If he could sing.
Yesterday was a day like any other. Pretty much all days go down the same, yeah? I mean, day in, day out sort of thing. Routine is the norm. Imagine my surprise when I walk in the kitchen yesterday to see Bennett PULLING FOOD OUT OF THE FREAKING TRASH CAN AND CONSUMING IT.
Now, granted, I'm impressed that he has figured out how to open the lid. That in and of itself is super. I also got used to him beating on the silver top like a steel drum, and this trash can makes a helluva loud, reverberating sound when thwacked with human flesh. Over.
But like I said...got used to it. Sort of became a kind of background noise. Like the fan I use to sleep more soundly. But graduating from beating the can to death to wolfing down the disgusting contents of its interior?
So, my question is for ALL the Special Circumstances parents who happen to come here from time to time, and anybody else for that matter who might have an unusually smart dog. Is there a Child Safety trash can or other sort of thing I can get to keep him from using it as a feeding station? Aside from moving the trash can into a closet or something. This I can think of on my own.
Suggestions are welcome. And just so you know, the current style of trash receptacle we use in the kitchen looks like this.
Well, that's a pic of a new one.
Ours is covered in very small handprints.