What a dawg.

Me:  Beaumont. You’re not a blanket.

Beau:  I’m not a doormat either.

Me:  What has that got to do with anything?

Beau:  Well. You seem to be intent on defining what I’m not, so I’m just helping out.

Me:  You’re cheeky.

Beau:  No. Actually. I’m a dog. Man’s best friend in fact.

Me:  How is lying on top of your dad making you his best friend?

Beau:  I’m keeping him warm.

Me:  I thought we agreed you weren’t a blanket.

Beau:  Geez Louise. We didn’t agree to anything. You’re the one who made the statement I wasn’t a blanket. I neither agreed nor disagreed.

Me:  You know you’re being obtuse.

Beau:  There you go again. Calling me things I’m not  and probably can’t define either btw. But anyway. I repeat. I am a dog.

Me:  Who thinks he’s a blanket.

Beau:  Who knows he’s a dog and because he’s a dog, it makes him man’s best friend. Which means, if I see my best friend lying on the couch in need of company, I do my best to fulfill on his needs.

Me: By lying on top of him like a blanket.

Beau:  Will a blanket lick your face?

Me:  Of course not.

Beau:  Then I rest my case. I am not a blanket. (putting his head down on C.C.’s chest) Now. Leave us alone. My best friend and I have to take a nap.

Sigh. And once again, Beaumont manages to twist every conversation to defend his position. He’s a real dawg that way. 

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