the pact

We have a pact, tiny chumley and I. I say squirrel, and he drops everything to check out the situation. He ambles up and shows me his tummy, and I drop everything to give him some lovin. I say jump, he says how high? Of course doesn't always work that way, but all in all, our pact is our pact, and we both try live according to its rules. Stray from the rules, and somebody is bound to notice.

Running late and consumed as I was with making whatever it was at the moment, I tried to play hooky while Big Boyfriend was away and plopped a hearty bowl of food down for Baxter to enjoy at lunchtime. No work, no training, just plain ol foody goodness. Surely Baxter would be in hog heaven, I figured, and I could get back to making things.

I whistled, and Baxter came trotting into the kitchen.

With a grand flourish and my happiest "okay" release command, I beckoned my boy to gobble down my gracious gift. Baxter looked at me quizzically, then sniffed at his bowl, taking a nugget then spitting it back out. He looked at me again.

"Heeey, no schnubbing. This is the good stuff," I said, and plopped a nugget in his mouth.

ptoo.

While I stared at chumley with equal quizzical intensity, Baxter let out a bark, looked down at the bowl, then looked back at me. Really?, I wondered to myself.

I grabbed a nugget and made him do a Jazz. The same nugget that he earlier ptooed was now gobbled down without a thought.

"Okay, a pact's a pact, isn't it?" I told my little boy, and tiny chumley spent the rest of his lunchtime twirling and dancing like a little marionette at my fingertips, until his bowl was finally empty.