How they survive is beyond me. It doesn’t seem like they could get enough to eat.
Riley just ate a giant bowl of dog food and chicken fried rice (with gravy on top, HEATED UP – I’ll get his weight back up if it’s the last thing I do) and then tried to climb into my lap while I sat here at the desk. First, it’s all “oh, how sweet, my darling dog loves me and appreciates the delicious dinner I put together for him,” and then it was more, “whoa dog, you can’t actually get into my lap, but sure I’ll scratch your head and pet you and hug you and love you,” and then, “OH. Right. You just wanted to burp in my face.” And then he walked away. This is not the first time he’s done that, but I fall for the “I love you so much, pet me, pet me” routine EVERY DAMN TIME.
He knows I’m talking about him. He’s curled up on his new dog bed giving me the Stare of Death. Hey, man, this is what you get. Being down one leg and having cancer does not excuse the in-your-face-burp.
Oh, who am I kidding? Of course it does.