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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