Pampered

Dexter and Comet have this competition, it seems, as to which one can get away with something. The several times I have forgotten to move the kitchen trashcan, I found Comet’s compulsion to explore its contents on exhibit. I glower but generally am at a loss what to really do with a shamed dog.

“It’s not my fault. I was a stray”

With Dexter, his secret obsession is to sleep on our bed. On MY side. I grudgingly admire that purposefulness.) The couple of times I have caught him he slinks off confused ( or practicing the look). At other times I come home, noticing a ten-second delay in his joining Comet to greet me at the door. A rumpled bedspread but nothing conclusive to draw my suspicion (Yeah, right). There there are the times no pretense, nor chagrin is necessary or forthcoming.

This afternoon, we’re sitting in our office catching up on bills and such, when my wife gets up and walks into the bedroom.

“Come see this. “

“See it’s cute. Momma agrees.”

We both think these two are trying to one- up the other. We’ve been down this road before. Three now- grown men were testing us as parents for years. We didn’t get mad. We got even. The air conditioning and appliance upgrades went in after they moved out on their own. But we’ve tried leaving the front door open. Dexter and Comet are both convinced that nothing beats the comforts of home.

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