An unfiltered fire hose of flaming condemnation

Jilted

Chuck has a bad habit of hiding the ends of his rawhide bones underneath the couch or the coffee table. I don’t know if it’s a game that he likes to play with himself or maybe just an instinct to hide the remains of his prey. He often goes back to the couch or the coffee table and tries desperately to claw out the rawhide ends, contorting his body in five different directions and paddling his front claws like he’s drowning and trying to come up for air.

When he can’t reach the remains of his kill he comes begging to Jon and me to help him retrieve the bone. It’s one of the only times he EVER wags his tail for me, and he looks at me like, “I love you, please help me. It’s right there and I can’t get it. Did I mention I love you?”

Last night he was FURIOUSLY digging under the coffee table for the end of a rawhide bone that I had purposefully hid because he sulked in the basement all day long. I am vindictive that way, in case you didn’t know.

When he figured out that he couldn’t reach it no matter how maniacally he paddled his legs he came to me, ears perked with hope, tail wagging. And I looked at him and said, “WHERE’S EMILY NOW, HUH? GO ASK EMILY TO GET IT FOR YOU. WHERE’S EMILY WHEN YOU NEED HER?”

And in case you were wondering, yes, I have an appointment with my therapist today at 3 PM.

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Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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