It’s true I’ve had others, but no one makes me laugh and gives me a run for my gastrointestinal biome food like my best friend, Biscuit. Our new kibble, designed to keep our bellies from shedding their contents inappropriately, is not what I’d call delicious. You take him away sometimes and neither of us can eat a bite. Our food just sits in our bowls for at least a day. That should let you know that we need to be together. I know we’re a handful. When we are in full play mode, we’re several hands full. We bark and leap and jump around and act silly and you get that look on your face that is supposed to make us stop doing what comes naturally. We braid our leashes if you aren’t paying complete attention to each of us.

Dognabbit. If you keep him from me, I just get more excited when I see him. When my brown eyes get blue, I’m really scheming up new tricks for us. I’ve taught Biscuit The Dishtowel Tear; The Sock Stealer; The Newspaper Ripoff; Rules for Bedtime, including who gets to sleep where. I usually get first choice because so far Biscuit watches me with those big golden eyes of his to see which spot I’ll take. Then he assumes his own space. I’ve taught him other games too, but I can’t reveal them. 

When he’s not here, I put my chin on my front paws and wait. Some dumbies say dogs have no sense of time. They don’t know how it feels to wait and wait for your best friend to come home.

So, how about it, just bring me along as much as you can when you take Biscuit up to Old Pines or anywhere else you go. I promise I’ll be about as good as I can be. 

Advice from Oliver: It hurts the heart to be torn asunder from loved ones. 

3 thoughts on “MY BEST FRIEND

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