We don’t treat our dogs equally. Most of it is for their own good. Some of it is because, like Haas, Dad doesn’t feel the rules apply to him, but whatever. For example, Drake doesn’t like the high quality, natural, probiotic, made-for-ginormous-mutts food we buy so he gets to eat cheaper food mixed in. Basically, he wants the equivalent of chicken nuggets at every meal. Percy doesn’t get any junk food to avoid some fearsome flatulence issues. Haas is allowed to roam more rooms of the house because he doesn’t tend to eat socks. Against my wishes, Haas lets himself out of his crate and joins Dad in a 3:30 a.m. snack.
After one post midnight munchie, Haas decided to retrieve a butternut squash from the kitchen and bring it to the living room. There he snuggled up with the squash, give it periodic licks, and just existed. Normally, I don’t find squash in my living room but it was a nice change from finding a random chunk of concrete. I’ll take a small win.
When I came home from school, the squash, only lightly punctured, was sitting on Dad’s end table. I was quite relieved as I was afraid by well fertilized back yard wouldn’t become a field of squash next year. The boys went out to play and came in nicely and Haas grabbed his butternut buddy and flopped down in his favorite floor spot.
Minutes later, I feel a pathetic stare. Haas looks miserable and Percy the butternut are gone. Being nice Mom, I find Percy’s hiding place and retrieve Haas’s …friend? Baby? future snack? Whatever. If my dogs weren’t weird, I wouldn’t need a dog blog. Percy pouted at my feet and I wrongly assumed I could continue my 523rd viewing of The Great British Baking Show.
Crunch
NO
I was not risking squash poop on my carpet. That was NOT happening. Mom confiscated Haas’s prized possession and discarded it. The boys bring enough dirt, mud, and twigs in as it is. For the rest of the evening, Haas sulked in the living room floor, refusing to make eye contact. Maybe Haas needs a new nickname.
Haasquash
Pouty McBigBaby
The Butternut Butthead
Suggestions?
The Terrible Two on Four Feet 