Johnny Rotten made me a snack today, because I was working really hard in the yard, and he was taking more naps than hobbits have breakfasts. It was actually more of a peace offering than anything, I guess, but stil, snacks are snacks.
It had a bunch of deliciousness on it. Crackers, a few kinds of sausage, a few kinds of cheese, and pickles. It was really good, and it squashed any dissent I had over his version of nap-elevenses.
The ladymutts were begging so hard while I was eating. There was straight eyeballing, which didnt work for them, because hey, I dont care, they napped as hard as Johnny Rotten did.
Then there was the moving closer. Had there been a fire, perhaps even a disco inferno which can totally break out any time, because burn baby burn, I would have been trapped by the dogs and their starey eyes. Still I didnt give in.
Then. Then! Then there was soft whining in addition to the physical crushing and puppy eyes, just in case I didnt notice that hey, maybe they wanted to share my snacks.
Im not a complete hard ass, y’all. I finally gave in. I reached onto my snack plate. My hand hovered over the delicious cheese and the tantalizing sausage. Which should I give these poor dogs? They are so good and so nice.
Only, they arent. They snored and farted while I worked hard.
So, I gave them a pickle each. And, while they glared at me, I chortled and yelled, “Beggars cant be choosers!”
So now, my dogs hate me even though they learned a valuable lesson. And now, my neighbors hate me too, because I do weird crap like yelling idioms and cliches even though they are true at my dogs at the top of my lungs.
So ungrateful. All of them. Pickles for everyone next time.