This morning I made omlets for my family. I put them on the table and stepped out of the room for a minute to call everyone in for breakfast.
A certain somebody decided he was ready. He didn't need to be called. Who was this certain somebody, you ask? None other than my trouble making German Shepherd, Schultz.
I heard a funny slurping, chomping noise, and I knew he was up to something. I found him with his front paws on my son's chair, wolfing down my son's omlet.
"Schultz!" I yelled.
He got off of that chair and looked at me. A piece of cheese was still hanging from his snoot.
"What do you think you're doing?"
He cocked his head. The cheese cocked with it.
Just then my son entered the room. "Mama, did Schultz eat my breakfast?"
I looked at the plate. "Not all of it. He left about half for you."
Unfortunately, that half was covered in dog slobber. So, I sent the dog to doggy jail and made another omlet. When is that dog going to learn he's not a person?