After Roz finished bleaching each of the kid’s toys, she moved on to the cesspool of germs better known as Burrito, the family beagle. She eyed his off-white fur with disgust – how had he gotten so yellow in the three days since she last washed him and rubbed Moroccan oil in his hair? Sensing her intent, B. began to slowly circle around her, yipping in anticipation. Roz pulled on her elbow-length yellow industrial strength cleaning gloves and pulled out the 2% Benzoyl Peroxide dog shampoo. She looked longingly at the leftover pool of bleach, one of Henry’s Lego submarines floating listlessly on top. How much bleach would kill a dog? Could she just dip him in quickly? Burrito stuck an exploratory tongue in the tub and lapped a few sips. Roz watched as his brain apparently failed to compute that he was eating poison. “Are the kids too young to learn about pet suicide?” she wondered as she watched him take a few more eager licks. It would be nice to eliminate this part of her daily cleaning routine.