Walter the Farting Dog is the story of Walter the, uh, farting dog. Beloved by children, but shunned by adults for his flatulent ways, poor Walter even catches the blame for everybody else’s farts. He ultimately puts his noxious outbursts to heroic use and saves the day, but not before almost getting shipped off to the pound in order to rid the house of the stench clouds that he leaves in his wake.

But this isn’t so much a book review as much as it is the story of how this little tale taught my son his first lesson in justice. This book has been one of my son’s favorites pretty much from the time he would sit still long enough to let me read to him. There are many books he’s grown tired of, but not the story of Walter.

See, blaming a fart on a dog seems like a pretty minor sin, but to the dog on the other end, it may be a pretty big deal. Hell, it almost got Walter sent back to the pound, and who knows what grisly fate may have awaited him there? Thus, my son has decided that all farts that occur in our household shall be rightly attributed to the individual whose ass they emanated from. Hence, any audible passage of gas in our home is now followed by a declaration from my son of who dealt it. Most often, of course, it’s “Daddy farted”, but every now and then you’ll get a “Mommy farted.” And lest ye think the kid can’t take responsibility for his own actions, he’ll gladly fess up with “I farted.” He has blamed the dog a few times, but to my knowledge, it’s only been when the dog was actually guilty. We’ve yet to hear anyone else catch any blame, but most people tend not to rear back and cut loose when they’re not on their home turf. As long as we don’t ever hear “Grandma farted” I think it’ll be all right.