We kept telling him we couldn't have one, so ChinchillaBoy used to harrass every dog owner he met on the street. ("This is a cute dog! Can I pet him? What's his name? What's his breed?", etc etc)
One day, when he was seven, he came home from a walk with his Grandpa, and asked me:
"Mom, what happens if the dog doesn't shit?"
"He dies," I said automatically. "Why do you ask?"
"Cause Grandpa and I just met this dog on the way home, he was SOOOO cute! And I talked to the owner. And the owner said that the dog does not shit. The dog wasn't dead, Mom."
"Heh heh. ChinchillaBoy, he probably meant that the dog does not shed. You know... lose hair."
"Are you sure Mom?" - ChinchillaBoy made me repeat it several times, and still he found it hard to believe me.
A few years passed.
"Hey ChinchillaBoy," I said once, "remember when you said that the dog didn't shit?"
"Yes, I totally believed that!"
"How come you didn't even wonder why an adult would say "shit" to a seven-year-old?"
ChinchillaBoy thought about it.
"Don't know... I just didn't."
We are a very dysfunctional family.