I was aimlessly wandering the kitchen, checking for any post-supper droppings, when I smelled it. Food. Only dog kibble, but still, food is food. I snuffled around the bottoms of the cupboards, under the bar stools, and even in Boss Lady's Father's slippers, but found nothing. I sniffled intently along the floor, inhaling random dust bunnies that smelled promising. Still nothing. Finally, my nose locked upon the kibble smell: under the fridge.
I could smell it, a gold mine of kibble under there. I wedged my nose between the fridge and cupboard and snuffled and sniffled and licked around, but couldn't capture the elusive kibbles. I whined, moaned and directed pathetic looks toward Boss Lady's Mother. I scratched at the floor until finally Boss Lady's Mother went in search of Boss Lady to solve the problem.
When Boss Lady appeared, I eagerly looked at the fridge and whined. Boss Lady's gruff response was to "back up and down stay." So I did. She proceeded to dig out gobs of dust bunnies, a Chihuahua sized ball of pet hair (that cat sheds so much!) and 3 wonderful pieces of kibble. They glowed at me from within the dust and dirt. I could barely contain myself, a little puddle of drool formed under my chin. Boss Lady wandered out of the kitchen in search of a dust pan, leaving me all alone with the wondrous kibble. The kitchen was flooding with drool when she finally returned. I was dismayed when, instead of releasing me, she swept up the mess and unceremoniously dumped it in the garbage.
"What about my kibble?!" I wailed. She gave me a disgusted look, dug three Charlee Bears out of the cupboard, dropped them on the floor where the mess had been, and released me. Mmmmmm. Charlee Bears. But, you can't fool me. I know there was kibble, and I know where you put it. I may never forgive you for this blatant display of kibble abuse. I hope you're happy with yourself.