|Nobody knows the trouble I've seen.|
Yeah, the vet's been nice to you for 6 years. But the guiltier you make him feel, the more treats he parses out.
But back to your mom. She's horrible.
She's worried that you have dropped from your healthy weight of 7 pounds down to 5. She notices that you're always cold, so she layers you in various t-shirts and jackets, including one that looks like a Christmas tree.
|This is what exploitation looks like.|
You eat like a champ. Unfortunately, you poop like a champ, too. It doesn't seem like much goes on in between.
Somehow, this is all your mom's fault because she's so mean. And it serves her right that the day after the vet gave you so many treats, she picked up a treat off the floor with her bare hands ... only to find that the treat had been through your system already. She picked up poo. With her bare hands.
She's starting to think that your weight loss started about the time you actually began answering to the moniker "The Little One." Your mom and dad call you and your canine pals all sorts of names. Roo-Roo-Noodle and Giant Noggin don't respond to their nicknames.
|Someone doesn't put a lot of stock in the words of the "humans."|
|Nickname? Dude. I barely know my name. I love you!|
You're messing with your mom on purpose. You're smart as hell, and you don't give 2 shits about what your humans might want.
But maybe, just this once? You'd consider packing on some pounds?