Bad Boys.

Me:  Beaumont….

Beau:  Sorry. I can’t hear you.

Me:  Yes you can.

Beau:  What do you want?

Me:  Stop staring at your dad’s toast.

Beau:  Well he’s eating it right in front of me.

Me:  And you’re not supposed to be on the bed.

Beau:  Oh my. You do like to quibble over the small details don’t you. What about the big picture?

Me:  (Knowing I shouldn’t but I have to ask anyway.)  What big picture?

Beau:  Me. Sitting here on the bed. Starving. Saliva running off my chin. My stomach grumbling. My belly yearning for just a small nibble of toast to quell its voracious hammering for some sort of sustenance. That big picture.

Me:  You mean big picture as in movie in your head?

Beau:  No. I mean big picture as in I’m sitting here staring at his toast and he’s still not giving me any.

Me:  I have him well trained. He knows better than to feed you in bed.

Beau:  Oh Eeee! Them’s fightin’ words. Wanna make a bet.

Me:  No.

Beau:  Scaredy cat. ‘Fraid you’ll lose?

Me:  No. Just certain there’s nothing to bet here. He won’t succumb.

Beau:  Well I so do love a challenge. (Laying his head down on his front paws and giving his dad that ‘ole dewy eyed, poor puppy dog me look)  And the opportunity to prove you wrong.

Alas. Beau was right. His dad could not resist. 

Guess I don‘t have either of them as well trained as I like to think. 

And here’s the proof.  Bad boys. 🙂