|It wasn't my fault.|
Toby at the keyboard to explain the recent events leading up to my re-incarceration:
It's the vet's fault.
It happened like this.
First, SHE made cookies, lots and lots of cookies. Did I get to taste test them? No siree, not even ONE cookie came my way. Most of them went into the pantry but she put 16 of them into a little hand- painted apothecary jar on the counter (yes, SHE had done the tole painting on the wooden lid and I admit, it was pretty cute). Being the patient pup that I am, I waited until they went out for dinner the next evening. As the headlights receded down the driveway I gently used my soft Golden retriever jaws to lower the jar to the floor, prodded out the lid, and one by one I feasted on chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies. Yum! Lemme just say she could teach those Milk Bone people a thing or two. Sadly the painted lid was not so tasty. I barely gnawed it at all. Truly.
I would never have done this if the Vet had not weighed me and told my people that I have (gasp) love handles. I don't know why something with the word 'love' in it means I have to live a ravenous life. But that is the unfair treatment I've gotten ever since.
Workers came and banged on the outside of our house for 2 weeks and almost drove me nuts. I couldn't go out in the yard unless I was leashed because they had the gates open all day. I barked at them every day but they trespassed anyway. Sometimes HE even invited them inside! Finally they left. The people stepped outside to look at whatever mischief those workers had done. They left the pantry door just slightly ajar…well. Basically they were inviting me to help myself to the greenies, right? Actually, two whole unopened bags of greenies, since they'd just been to the commissary… My poop was green for 3 days! That's what you call a FIESTA!
For some reason they weren't as happy as me when they came back inside…
Two nights ago HE brought out his new telescope after dinner and went out back to set it up. Soon he was hollering for HER to hurry and get a jacket to come and see Jupiter and its moons, whatever that is. I pretended to snooze while she left the unwashed 9x13 pan on the counter. Yowzer did it make a noise when it hit the tile floor! They both came running but I was already in the other room; I know better than to walk on all that broken glass!
SHE said a very RUDE thing then. "I hope the noise scared the s**t out of him!" she told HIM. Why would she hope such a terrible thing?
The crate came back into the kitchen and now every time they leave me alone in the house I have to go into it. I look as pathetic as possible but the parole board isn't going to meet for awhile I guess.
The Vet is who belongs in a crate! If she hadn't sentenced me to life on short rations NONE of this would have happened, right? Right?
What's the matter with love handles anyway?
Poor Toby. He does accuse us of cruel and unusual punishment these days. We want him to be healthy for a long time. Too bad we can't explain it to him; it's hard enough to diet when you do understand what's going on! That said, there's naughty and then there's NAUGHTY, and he had graduated to the latter. So the crate will have to stay.