Where is everybody?
My tummy alarm is going off and no one with thumbs is around to give me any treats. My Peeps can be so inconsiderate that way.
Well, my Packmates are messy creatures. I’m sure I can smelltaste out something for a snack. I put my nose to the floor and snork.
I trot over to my Boypup’s small den. At eight seasons old, he’s very messy. With Tillie in her crate there might be some crumbs around. I push open the door. Tillie boings around in her crate, spinning, happy to see me. She’s a cute basset puppygirl and I’m glad she’s ours.
Even if she isn’t very bright.
Not everyone can be a brilliant basset hound familiar, after all.
I snork around on the floor, scooping up scent with my fine ears, funneling it to my mouth and nose. There are many smelltastes. I savor old sweat socks, underwear, and spoons. I push the spoons around with my nose.
Tillie bays pathetically. Hm. If I let her out, she might go potty in the house. That’s not a good thing. If I don’t, she’ll be sad. Can’t have that. She steps out, shakes her coat into place, and licks my nose. Then she rolls over on her back.
And pees a little.
Joey will never notice.
There are no nummies in here. Tillie on my heels, I check the kitchen. I smelltaste the lovely essence of leftovers in the trash I can’t get to. The kitchen is the room least likely to have goodies on the floor, unless there are Peeps around. I smelltaste around the table. Check under the fridge. Then under the stove.
My tail whips straight up. Drool pours from my mouth. There is a treat under the stove. I cock my head and slide my snout as far under as I can. Not far enough. I pull out, sneeze, and try again. It’s too far back. Karly’s magic homework probably went wrong.
Otherwise I woulda known it was there.
I poke my paw in the opening. It doesn’t reach far enough. My paw isn’t meant for grabbing things. It’s a perfectly designed digging tool. I snuffle. Maybe I can make it move.
“Arooo!” How am I going to reach it?
Tillie is making a racket with a wooden spoon she stole from somewhere. She’s batting at it, sliding it across the floor, banging it against the walls. It bounces off the kitchen island and slips almost under the stove.
She pounces on it. The spoon slides out, a piece of biscuit caught on the edge. Tillie jumps on the treat, crunching on the cookie with joy. Her tail is spinning so fast she’s going to puppycopter out of the room.
It’s good she got it. She’s still little, and needs a lot of food to grow big and strong.
I bet there’s treats under the couch cushions.