Sam’s not taking a bath here; he’s just hanging out.
Whenever there’s activity at the sink, he busily pulls his little chair over, stands on his toes, and looks over the edge like Kilroy. He did this last night, and I jokingly told him, “Get in the sink, Sam-Sam!”
Up went one chubby hock. He got his foot up to the drawer-front, then it stopped, and slowly slid back down to the chair as he peered over with raised brow.
“Get in the sink, Sam!” I said again, laughing.
He marked time in his chair for a few steps, then up went the foot again.
I laughed some more.
At this point, I think Jill felt a little bit sorry for him, so she cometized the sink, removed Sam’s [clean] diaper, and plopped him in there like a thawed turkey.
Then, I took a lot of pictures.











