This is what I found on the floor outside my bedroom door this morning.
Jeff and I were out late last night because his band had a gig. The boys spent the night with their grandparents so I could go out and enjoy some Blues.
Please tell me you had a three musketeers bar last night, I said to my husband when he emerged late morning.
No, he said, he hadn’t.
I would not have been so suspicious except for what happened a few nights ago.
Someone broke into Lucy Mae’s dog food bag and proceeded to eat a huge portion of it. We don’t leave it under lock and key. Never had to. But there it was–wide open, with a big fat face print in it.
I was disappointed in the dog food, of course; but we all know that dogs are not supposed to eat chocolate. That rascal sneaked into Jeffrey’s room, sniffed out his prized three musketeers—the one he received in his Easter basket and was saving for a special occasion–took the lid off the box it was hiding in, grabbed the thing, ripped off the paper and ate THE WHOLE THING.
Our houseguest has an eating disorder.
We watched him for several hours and he never showed any ill-effects.
It’s just not right.
At his last weigh in at the vets, he had only lost a quarter of an ounce. How will I explain this one?! He might possibly gain weight this week if he keeps this up.
I understand, Toby. I so understand.