Poor Moose - Roger and I had big beef for dinner. Very large steaks - we both have about half of ours left over, sitting on a plate over on a TV tray table by Roger. Moose has climbed up onto Roger's lap, and has obviously treed the steak. I've tried before to explain to him that he's not a pointer, but he insists on trying.
At any rate... He treed the steak. He pointed out the steak. He gazed longingly at the steak. There was a subtle whine about the steak. Heck, he even let out a very polite bark, just to alert us to the fact that there is steak, damn it! Steak!
Sorry, small boy... you had all you're going to get for the night. Heck, the meat there is approximately the same size as your head... it's really not going to happen. But hope springs eternal in a doxie breast.
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