I remember when you were but a wee one. A little bolster throw-pillow running about the house and narcoleptically dropping out, exhausted from the joyous effort of irritating Hambone.
Now you are bigger.
Much bigger. Not much wiser - but MUCH bigger.
I have just gotten word that you weighed in at 119lbs at the vets office about an hour ago. And that your daddy got yelled at by the vet tech. Rightfully so. And then he subsequently txt'ed me and tried to transfer all that blame on to my parenting. But we both know that is bullshit. Don't we sweetie?
Yes we do. We know that it is your ability to eat at a compettitive sporting level. Like when you wait for us to go to bed and eat loaves of bread in the kitchen. I still wonder how you get the wrapper off. Or that you even noticed that there was a wrapper.
Well, I just thought I'd let you know I was thinking about you before I got home and found out what the new diet was. I hope it's not the green bean diet. I know your distaste for vegetables that aren't buttered.
Hambone may kill you in your sleep for bringing all this drama home. You know he doesn't like people messing with his treat schedule. I often wonder how that dog never gains a pound when he is the main culprit in stories like "who ate Seamus's sheet cake". Remember that? He was farting sugar for a week.
Good luck baby Thor. May our waistlines find us both.