I'm A Bad Dog!

You see, no matter how small I am, I am still a dog. Get it! What does this have to do with anything?

I bit Papa!

Honest to Gosh, I didn’t mean to. I just did it. Instinct, genes, I don’t know.

Papa and I were out for a constitutional… I had to go… you know, make pee. I spotted some of my favorite chewing material. Rock hard, old… stuff I left there the week before. Hey, I’m a dog. We do that. Get over it.

Papa tried to take it out of my mouth and… well… I bit him. It was over so quickly. I didn’t even think about it. Before I knew it my teeth were showing and I left a little mark on his finger. Believe me, it was little. But he was… to put it mildly… a little upset.

He grabbed my furry little body and took me inside. But I didn’t drop my prize in the whirlwind of activity.

He took me into the bedroom and told Mama, and then he grabbed my mouth from the side and I dropped my goody.

I didn’t go after it or bite again, because when I started to growl a little, Mama let me have it in her loud Russian way. I felt the life go out of me. I dropped my head in shame.

I should never have bit Papa, or tried to open my mouth to Mama. They both love me so much, no matter what I do. But it hurts me more when I come to my senses and realize I hurt them somehow.

When it was all over they still loved me. Cool, huh!

Later,

Woodie


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