I say puppy; huge hairy one-year old beast that he is. Turd.
Scenario - they’ve been good boys this morning. We had a nice walk up a hill where they started no fights, desecrated no flower-beds, and pooped in easy-to-scoop places and in managable amounts. We walk home via a pet store where they each get a super-bouncy chewy rubber ball for being good boys, which they each carry home, grinning all the way and looking terribly pleased with themselves.
At home, wizened elder retires to his bed in order to rip the ball a new butthole with glee, pounding his tail against the floor the whole time and spitting out soggy little shreads with a ‘pflwoopt’ noise all over the rug. It’s the best kind of doggy fun. The puppy watches, barking, whining; too little still to chew up his own ball, his jaws aren’t strong enough yet. So I toss it a few times to keep him occupied. All are happy and content with their rubber-ball playage.
The problem comes 'soon as Gramps figures he has no ball left. The puppy clocks this. A sly smile; he still has his ball. He takes his ball in his mouth to walk back and forth in front of the other’s bed a few times with a sort of a faux nonchalance. He is even swinging his butt about like a puppy Monroe. He does this until he knows he’ll be followed, then struts through to the next room, pretending not to notice that someone else is now desperate for his ball.
But oh no! What’s this? I’ve dropped my ball! Now, however did that happen?
Just as Gramps reaches for it - aha! Puppies are too quick! Too late, oldtimer. I have the ball now, hahahahaa! I think I will go lie down over here where you can see, and chew on it some. See how I watch you. I know you want my ball. You know it. You can practically taste it. Check out my round, chewy, juicy ball-goodness. I see you are drooling for it. Yes, my ball is damn fine. Mmmmm balllll…
Wizened elder gets bored. Sighs, stops watching the puppy, head down on his paws. But this is no good! I must now chew on my ball in such a way as to make the rubber squeak. That will make you want this tasty rubber treat. But it is MINE.
squeeek… scrinchscrinch… squooshasquooshasquooshh
Gramps now wants the ball to such a degree that his hiney starts vibrating. The puppy coquettishly tosses it the air a few times to catch, almost losing it but grabbing it back just in time. He’s putting on a real show. Squirming orgasmically over the ball, pouncing on it in utter abandon, slying checking occasionally to see he’s getting the desired reaction. He’s an exhibitionist, a lap dancer of ball-play; all he needs is a garter with a bunch of ones stuffed in it. The poor old guy comes running over to me panting in desperation - get the ball off the stupid puppy! I am handsome! You love me! Get the ball for me, pleeeeese, no fair, the puppy is mean…
I take pity and retrive an old rubber bone from under my desk. We play tug of war a little while the puppy watches, his nose so far out of joint it’s somewhere around the back of his fuzzy puppy head. Suddenly his cold lil eyes take on this spine-chilling focus; a decision has been made. He stalks over, the ball seemingly forgotten. Starts to lick the elder, big puppy kisses, over the other’s ears where he knows he likes it. Look at me, I’m a nice puppy, how good does this feel, ooh yea, you like this don’cha. Gramps blisses out, his jaws begin to slacken his hold on the bone…
The bone never even hits the floor. A black and white streak of fluff snatches it away to the depths of his lair.
So my puppy is now back happily chewing on his ball squooshasquooshh, sitting on the rubber bone where the other can’t find it. Gramps looks on, bereft. Puppy thinks this is just the most fun in the world. I’m looking at him now, and he’s laughing.
Evil little snot.
