The new neighbors bring over their brand spanking new (less than 24 hours of ownership) seven-week-old gray French Bulldog. (One that cost $6000. I kid you not.)
Puppy: ::: with slack-jawed reverence ::: ::: whispers :::: My LADY!! Look! they brought me an amuse-bouche!
Dog Mom: No more food network for you. That is NOT an appetizer.
Puppy: It *looks* like an appetizer. :::drools:::
Dog Mom: That’s a brand new puppy.
Puppy: YOU ARE SHITTING ME. ::: tries to climb neighbor to get to it :::
Dog Mom: STOP! YOU CANNOT HAVE THE $6000 PUPPY.
Puppy: But I NEED it.
Dog Mom: NO.
Puppy: Can I play with it and squish it?
Dog Mom: NO.
Puppy: Can I lick it and shake it and flip it in the air?
Dog Mom: NO.
Neighbors set the puppy down, which makes the mistake of running underneath the bar stools.
Puppy: ::: LOSES HIS MIND::: MY LADY!!! I SHALL CATCH IT FOR YOU. Down go three bar stools, two neighbors, one French Bulldog, plus moi.
Puppy ::: looks at the destruction that was once the kitchen and the French Bulldog now quivering safely in her owner’s arms::: ::: wags his tail:::
Puppy: Did you see me catch her, My Lady? That was fun! Can we do it again?
Dog Mom: She’s never going to come back over here now.
Puppy: :::sigh::: But she LOVES me. See how she vibrates with love? She will be mine.
Dog Mom: Over my dead body.
Puppy: Challenge Accepted!
