Cutter.

I was sitting in my Me Only Room trying to write something passing legible and possibly interesting when I heard paws padding in behind me.

Ahem, Cutter said.

I spun around in my Me Only Room Chair just as he was settling himself, sitting.

Whassup? I asked not really caring ’cause this shit goes on all the time.

It’s about the food he said. Tug and I have been talking and we’ve decided enough’s enough.

Whaddya mean? I asked trying to be nice and maybe understanding?

Well, the way I see it, I men WE see it, Cutter said, we’re six years old now and we’ve been eating the same dogfood for our entire lives. I mean, think about it, he said, 4380 cold hard stainless steel bowls filled with Purina One. And a toilet to drink from.

You don’t have to drink from the toilet, I said. You choose to.

Ppppfffffffftttttt, he said.

How’d you do that I said, suddenly interested. You don’t have lips.

He stared at me coldly.

Let’s get back to the point, Cutter said. The food. The endless endlessly uninteresting sameness of it. I, er, I mean Tug and I, crave variety.

So what’re thinkin’ I asked.

Cutter tilted his head to one side like he always does when confronted with an unexpectantly interesting thought and said, I’m, I mean Tug and I, are thinking that when you and Miss Carol make dinner you always have leftovers that you bag up and then never eat. So, maybe I, I mean we, could join you for dinner.

And it’d just be the four of us for dinner every night? I mused.

Yeah! Whaddya think? Cutter said excitedly, his eyes glistening hopefully and full of want.

Hmmmm.

Let’s think this through, I said.

So far, I said, we share an apple for breakfast and then Miss Carol feeds you carrots and cucumbers and biscuits while she makes dinner and because you feel entitled you bark like an annoying retard the whole time, demanding more.

And soooo if we feed you scraps from the dinner table, I said, we can hope for more of the same relentlessly bad behavior, right?

Cutter said I’m pretty sure I could chill that shit and-

Sorry, dude. I said. Ain’t gonna happen.

Cutter looked at me long and hard and forlornly like I’d just killed his last hope and then he got up and padded back out into the living room.

As he left he said under his breath, fuck it, I’m gonna go pee on the couch.

Don’t you DARE, I yelled.

Advertisements

4 responses to “Cutter.

  1. –>Ha! We never give the dogs scraps. But a year ago today our chocolate lab died and the yellow lab has seen her fair share of rib and pizza bones (crusts) since then.

  2. Conversations with canines…you have the coolest dogs…ever! I’m a little bit jealous. 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s