Je mange le chien

I eat the dog.
Accomplished by biting their ears, which gets you a mouth full of fur and a dirty look for your troubles.
Yes, I really do bite their ears.
Or Samson's ears, at least.
He does this thing where he climbs into my lap, but instead of curling up, he sits bolt upright with his flank to me effectively blocking the TV so all I can see is dog shoulder.
Well, one day he did it and I got annoyed and bit his ear.
He was unimpressed.
So I bit it again, but tugged on it and growled like a puppy with a toy.
That got his attention. He jerked his ear out of my mouth and gave me a dirty look as if to say "You don't want to go there."
And I said, "Oh, I'll go there, puppy."
And I bit the side of his muzzle!
And Samson reared back and punched me in the face!
Really, pow, right in the kisser with his giant paw.
It hurt pretty bad, too, but I guess I was asking for it.
Hubby, of course, was laughing his head off.

Je marche sur le chiot!
I much prefer my normal battle cry: I step on the puppy!
Which is very useful when a 75 lbs dog is lying in the middle of the floor refusing to move. Stepping on the puppy is accomplished by shouting the battle cry, then softly placing your foot on the offending dog's shoulder.
This will earn you a dirty look, but at least your mouth is fur free.
And you don't usually get punched in the face afterward.
As you can see, Hubby is progressing in brushing up his French. (Although he hasn't learned the word for "step on" yet, so I had to run that through an online translator.)
I spent the weekend running around the house (attempting) to shout "Je mange le chien!"
Apparently my pronunciation was so bad during one attempt that I actually said something about a house eating a dog, or something.
Hubby and I decided it would be best for me not to attempt to speak any French while we are over there as they are more apt to be insulted by my extreme bungling than by thinking I don't speak French at all.
This does not surprise me, since I sometimes have trouble pronouncing English, and it's my only language.

Correction
I e-mailed Hubby: Je marche sur le chiot
He replied: You walk on the what?
I e-mailed: I step on the puppy!
He replied: No, marche is walk! You'd have to say Je fais un pas sur le chien, which is literally I take a step on the dog.....

So that online translator did me wrong.
No, I don't see much need for being able to say I eat or step on dogs while we are in France.
But my desire to know how to say that stuff should clear up any doubts you might have about my sick sense of humor.

Cupcake Caper
I baked cupcakes last night. Out of a box chocolate, with pre-made butter cream icing.
Really they can't be beat, so why torture myself with the scratch thing?
When it was time for dessert, I put four cupcakes on a plate and put it on the coffee table with our tea.
This coincided with the start of a thunderstorm.
Baru was already hiding upstairs in the Puppy Fort. Samson was in the foot space on the floor between the love seat and the coffee table.
At the first clap of thunder Samson barked, jumped up, turned around and barked out the window, then turned around and made a play for the cupcakes.
I jumped off the love seat and said, "No! Bad puppy!"
Then I suggested he might be more comfortable up in the fort with Baru.
But he sat in front of me with his shoulders hunched and his ears dropped and said he was a big boy and could handle it.
Then another clap of thunder came and he jumped up on me and said he could handle it better if I was holding him.
So I brought him over to the big couch, figuring it would be easier for him to sit next to me, and it would move his big, fat, flailing tail away from the tea and cupcakes.
But instead of sitting with me, he proceeded to jump from one end of the couch to the other—over me. Really, I was in imminent peril of being trampled.
I said, "Alright, that's enough, get down!"
Samson jumped off the couch—and made another play for the cupcakes!
I stood up and said "No, bad puppy!"
And although he was laying flat on his belly, he had a mischievous look on his face that showed he would try again if I turned my back.
Just at that moment, Hubby came downstairs and asked what was going on.
So I told him.
He said, "So, Samson's argument is 'I'm traumatized by the storm, give me a cupcake'?"
And I said, "I guess so."
Samson settled down after that. I don't know if it was the comforting presence of the Alpha, or it coincided with the storm passing.
No, we did not give him a cupcake.
And, just to be safe, when I packed the cupcakes up, I put them in the oven to protect them.
I can learn.
The cinnamon bun incident is still fresh in my mind.