It wasn’t more than a week with Ruby and already I could tell Dad was changing… and he said he wouldn’t. Sure there were a few times (like 134 times a day) where he would still rub my belly… still call me his Bubba Bear… rub my ears after he dried off in the shower… Picked me up by my front 2 paws and put them on his shoulder until I gave him lick bombs… BUT… Dad changed in a big way, when he started stashing poison inside my snacks!
Ok, I’m not a ninja, but even I’m aware when a giant pill the size of a rabbit’s foot is jammed in a piece of bread.
So then it became a fun game to me… get the bread… eat the bread… splat! shoot the coded-poison candy out of my mouth…
Dad HATED this time – but like, he wouldn’t give up either! He would just go for another piece of bread… nope SPLAT! …
Then there was the string cheese… SPLAT!
I even heard him say he was going to try and crush it up and sprinkle it over my food, like DUDE? Dog… Hearing senses…C’MON MAN!
Finally, he gave up on the poison and figured he would keep me around! And I must have made him feel terrible, because since then – each and every night he gets home… I get my own piece of roast beef, a bit hard in the middle, but rolled up to perfection and boy oh boy does it hit the spot!
Can’t get rid of me that easy!
