M-I-C-K-E-Y

I think Dad has been slippin' a medical mickey into my meal each morning . . . and evening too. I've been getting a dollop of peanut butter in my kibble and Orsa isn't getting anything, which is strange. And after he gives us the green light to mao our chow he plunks down and watches. Now I appreciate that he wants the family to share our meals together, but this is not normal. How's a chow to mao with a pair of eyes on her? It's that peanut butter I'm telling you. There's something about it. At my next meal, I'll just pretend to eat it and then take it back to my kennel to see what the dilly-o is.

B.