When I am given a chewbone, I turn. I am no longer the loving pet, a member of a human family, but a wild, bad animal. A primeval creature from long, long ago. A wolf ....I do not spend many happy hours chewing my “bone.” I defend it. I growl and show my teeth to anyone who comes near me. I become frantic with worry being responsible for looking after it. I walk all over the house carrying it, trying to hide it in corners where nobody can see it. I want to go out into the garden to bury it. Then I forget where I put it and comb all the places where I tried hiding it, because everywhere smells of it now.
Maybe this is the reason I am rarely given a chew bone.
2 comments:
Wow Tess! I prefer your smiley face on the esplanade. It does not look like the same dog.
Yout coat is looking very nice though.
Happy dog walks.
Sandy
I prefer your smiley esplanade face too Tess. But it looks like a very nice chewbone and I've been known to get possessive over a bag of Minstrels!
Mary
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