The other day, I ate a large round balloon…or so I thought.
It was coated in newspaper, flour and water and I’d eaten half the giant piñata
before realizing I didn’t feel so well. I went back through the game room, up
the stairs, through the living room and to the exit pacing frantically in hopes
of an escape to release this toxic poison inside of me and no one came. Yet
just the same, the emergency evacuation happened…all over the hard floors. When
it was discovered by the male species we were immediately released, Ranger and
I, to finish what we (or I) had started. The male semi-hairless species stayed
behind to remove the slippery booby trap he stepped in letting us out in the
dark, but had no idea which of us had done it so there were no punishments.
It was not until when the love of my life returned the next
day from her trip that she walked over to the half eaten piñata and held it
into the air. Immediately, I tucked my tail, looked away, down, sideways
anxiously looking for an escape. Ah, the spare dog bed in the game room! Then,
Ranger got all her petting, and I was BUSTED! Why do I always have to tell on myself?
No comments:
Post a Comment