Give the Dog a Bone

 

Me:  Beaumont?

Beau:  Whaaaat?

Me:  Why are you hiding in the kitchen?

Beau:  I’m not.

Me:  Then what are you doing?

Beau:  Waiting.

Me:  For what?

Beau:  Not ‘for what’.  For who.

Me:  (Sigh)  Whom.

Beau:  What?

Me:  The proper way to say it is, For whom.

Beau:  Who. Whom.  Doesn’t matter. What matters is my buddy, Rod, said he might bring me a bone.

Me:  When were you talking to Rod?

Beau:  I wasn’t.

Me:  So why did you say you were?

Beau:  I didn’t.

Me:  Well if you weren’t talking to him, how do you know he might bring you a bone?

Beau:  He text me.

Me:  Beaumont. You don’t have a phone.

Beau:  You do.

Me:  Right. And you know how to use it.

Beau:  Hey lady.  I’ve got my own blog. I could just as easily have a phone and know how to use it.

Me:  Your paws are too big to use the keypad.

Beau:  I repeat, if I can have my own blog, I don’t see why I can’t have my own phone.

Me:  That’s different.

Beau:  How?

Me:  Well, to have a phone you need to know how to use it and talk into it.

Beau:  And your point is?

Me:  Well, you don’t know how to talk.

Beau:  Really?  Then what am I doing right now?

Me:  That’s different.

Beau:  How so?

Me:  Well…. I’m the one typing your words.

Beau:  So…. then…. if I needed to text, you could type for me. Right?

Me:  Only if you had something to say.

Beau:  Oh lady, lady.  I got lots to say. Haven’t you noticed?

Me:  Oh. Right. Well then. About that bone.

Beau:  Well, now that you mention it. Can you text Rod to tell him to bring me a bunch?  I need something to chew on other than your words.

Me:  You know that’s a really bad joke?  It’s not even funny.

Beau:  Well, what do you expect? You’re the one doing the typing and we all know… You’re not funny.

Me:  (Sarcastically.  Which is silly in the first place ’cause sarcasm is lost on a dog.)  Thanks.

Beau:  You’re welcome. Now… about that text to Rod. Get to it, or else.

Me:  Or else what?

Beau:  I’ll ask Rod to come over and set you straight.  He’s always willing to protect the underdog.  Heh. Heh. Heh.

Me:  (Sigh.) Why do I feel  like I’m the underdog?

Beau:  Fact is. You’re not any kind of dawg. ‘Cause in this house, there can only be one kind of Dawg. Top Dog, underdog, any dog. I’m The Dawg.  

Me:  Thanks for the clarification. Good to know where I stand on the doggy pile.

Beau:  It’d be better if you knew where you stood on the issue of geting me my bones.

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And the saga continues.  Beau always ends up with the upper paw… and the bone.  And Rod will always defend him.