Ben’s been staying home with me more days than he’s been to school this week. He’s been down with a bout of stomach flu. Feeling chirpier today, we decided to head downstairs for a stroll and get some lunch.

It was mid-day and the estate was relatively quiet. An elderly man was walking his dog (a Maltese, methinks). The dog was sniffing grass, minding its own business.

Then my son broke the silence.

“Mama, see! An UGLY dog!”

The elderly uncle gave me a look and I returned it with a contorted embarrassed smile. When we shuttled past, I told Ben it was not nice to call a dog ugly. Though truth be told, it was. It was shaven bald and its skin was so raw there were patches of pink and brown and all sorts of blotches –  the dog did look horribly ugly.

Me: It’s not nice to yell “ugly dog”, dear.

Ben: Why?

Me: The uncle might feel hurt that you called his dog ugly.

Ben: Why? The dog IS ugly what.

Me: Maybe he thinks its the most beautiful dog in the world and you just hurt his feelings. (This, I know, was complete bull.)

He stated his point of view and I did mine, and that was it. I was honestly tickled by my kid who says the darndest things. At the darndest moment. Oh well, it’s just a dog. I was glad he didn’t march up to someone and declare that he/ she was fat / ugly / gross.

When we returned from getting lunch, we walked past the dog and the man again. This time, Ben yelled:

“Mama, see! A NICE dog!”