I gather you have met the grandson on his first visit to Yorkshire,
Bruce, and are concerned that your natural impulse to lick all available bare
feet may have been misinterpreted. You quickly found yourself banished from his
presence, I hear, and consigned to an outer circle of acquaintance.
Understandably this rankles with you. You feel aggrieved that you were excluded
from the deep contemplation and adoration of the little mite that formed the
principal occupation of both The Mommy and Satan for the week.
It is now axiomatic that dogs and babies don’t mix. Sorry Bruce, that’s
the way it is. Regrettably some of your fellow hounds have disgraced themselves
in this respect, with tragic consequences.
I counsel you to put aside this grievance, and invite you to consider
that it is in your best interest to keep a healthy distance between yourself
and the growing boy. This particular boy is genetically programmed to be highly
inquisitive and in time will become extremely mobile and possessed with strong
fingers. You on the other hand are not as nimble as heretofore, on account of
your regimen of sleeping and eating. Mentally speaking it will be no contest.
Speed of thought is not your strong point.
The boy’s mother detects great curiosity to be a dominant feature of
her son’s character. The Mommy concurs with this analysis and also exclaims his
cheerfulness of demeanour and growing strength. Even Satan is admiring of the
way the babe can already drink himself to oblivion. In short, he is perfection
personified and will be capable of no wrong. In time, when he approaches you my advice would be to keep
moving and look for a nearby exit. A world of pain awaits the unwary pooch.
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