The Giant Chicken Bone

If I had a doghouse I’d be in it. Instead I just crawled under the bed. I was out cavorting on my stretchy leash this morning, going after the squirrels and anything else that moved, when I faced a tough decision.

Since I found long smelly balloons and some other yucky stuff under the big pine trees, I’ve been staying on the path tethered to a human. There, right in the center of the walkway, was the biggest chicken bone I’ve ever seen. Of course I grabbed it. About four inches of it was sticking out of my mouth when my owner’s hand came swooping down. What to do? I can’t run. I can’t hide. As her fingers got dangerously close to the enormous bone, I defended it with a nip. I forgot that I had to open my mouth to do that so I lost the bone and made a serious enemy for the day. She kicked the bone away, reeled me in, and gave me a tug. A tug, not a hug.

I felt her icy look as we turned and headed home. She was getting blood on the handle of my stretchy leash. The bearded one defended me, arguing that no one should try to take chicken bones from a dog’s mouth. Then she brought up that old cat’s tale that chicken bones will splinter and kill me. A long day on the short leash. No chicken bone. No affection.