The other night, we rewarded the boys with fresh bones after a day well spent at the park and learning how to just chill around the house (something at which I excel). J.R. and I retire to the living room to watch TV, and the boys stay on their rugs, happily chewing away at their fresh bones. A little while later, we hear Padfoot cry, and we figure they are now fighting over which one has the best bone. Alas, no. Padfoot, in his inestimable wisdom, has somehow wedged the bone onto his lower jaw. Which is what happens, I suppose, when you try to stick your face in something. J.R. manages to ease it off of his jaw, and we resume TV watching, assuming something that freakish can't happen twice.
Yes. Well. Less than an hour later, the dogs have now joined us in the living room (still with the bones, though now slightly less juicy), and damn if Padfoot doesn't do it again. Dog, do not stick your face in the bone! We finally wisened up and took the bone away, but still. Damn.
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