that's my Mom's new nickname for me. an incident happened two nights ago. if my poopy sister had been involved, it would have involved death. but 'cause i was in charge, it involved gettin' free.
my Mom and the Dad went out for dinner. when they got home, i tore down the steps and started to take the curve down the hall to run into the kitchen. but i got diverted. i heard a sound. a very tiny sound, under the basket in the hall, where they keep their gloves, next to a giant pottery tea pot. i vestigated. i dug, i moved the basket a little, i jumped behind it and dug a little more. my Mom noticed and told the Dad to get a small towel. my work was done, so i stepped back into the livin' room to watch. my Mom opened the front door and the Dad knelt down with the towel in one hand and moved the basket and THERE IT WAS. the tiniest mousie all of us had ever seen! the Dad scooped it up in the little towel and took it outside and my Mom sang a verse of "Born Free." then she hugged me and told me what a good, good boy i was to tell them the little mousie was there, but not to hurt it. she hates, hates, hates it when Casey bites little heads off, it makes her sick. so then she cooked me cod!!!! what a night.
(that's my special cod plate up there, empty, after i ATE it all!)