He sits there staring at me, absolutely still. Only his orange eyebrows, like dancing caterpillars, give him away. He waits for me to make my move.
I stare back at him until he looks away, his drool-y flews leaving a trail of slobber on my jeans.
Breakfast. He watches and waits. I slowly reach for my fork. He thumps his tail. I ignore him.
After a long minute, he puts one heavy paw casually on my knee. I make him wait an eternity in dog years.
Every morning it is the same thing. The breakfast ritual. I could get smart, I guess. I could cook four pieces of bacon and just give him one right off. Maybe then I could start my day with a little peace and quiet.
Nah. Where’s the fun in that?
Cute!
Haha, cute. I have two pups like that. I find myself sneaking around trying to eat a sandwich.