What’s Mine is Mine…

So you see, this is called encroachment. He’s getting a little too close for comfort, but I pretend I don’t see him. I mean Biscuit. All he has to do is lift up one hind leg and he’s there, mooching in on my space. So far, I have made it clear. My window. My bed. My day bed. His kennel. My dog dish. His dog dish. Our water.

He listens…to a point. When we chase around on Cranberry Lake, we see my girlfriends and I share them. I figure that’s the least I can do since I’m the older one and way more mature. They’ll always love me, so it’s okay. I introduced Biscuit to their dog, Marlowe. He has long, brown legs and curly hair.

Biscuit and our girlfriends

I am happy to share because, you know, Biscuit is pretty hard to resist, except… I have to keep him informed of his rightful place: Second in command. NOT FIRST. Nope. I have eight years on him. But, boy does he eat. I’ve also noticed he grows.

Mostly, I like having him around. When you take him to school to try to teach him obedience, I am very glad when he comes home. I am at the door with a tug in my teeth to remind him how much fun we have in case he forgets. He’s little so he needs to be reminded.

Advice from Oliver: Sharing is not easy, but who’s perfect?

4 thoughts on “What’s Mine is Mine…

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