Minding My P’s and Q’s Part 2: Feeding Littermates

[I'd like to thank my copyediting certificate course and ACES for teaching me to include the apostrophes in that title.]

You can hug me all you like, just give me some of that there hot dog you're hiding on the counter.

I’ve just taken P to her last basic training class (thanks also to St. Hubert's). Q was left at home with a nice bone stuffed with peanut butter. He was too busy gazing at us in semi-panic mode when we were leaving to have at it, but I figured he’d go back to it once he could concentrate on the smell.

We returned, and after they’d done their usual ‘haven’t seen you for years old fruit’ happy dance around each other, P homed right in on the bone. I figured there couldn’t be any peanut butter left in it, so sure, go ahead. Bit of time passes and suddenly she’s snapping at Q. I think he only now remembered it and was trying to get close enough to nab it from her. But pb is a precious commodity in this house and P was NOT sharing. Q acquiesced,  lying pathetically in his grief just beyond growling reach.

So, feeding. And dog language. 

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