I was running late for work this morning and as I was coming down West End, this black Suburban starts honking at me. I look over and there in the passenger seat is this poor guy just looking terrified.
In the driver’s seat is the Butcher. I pointed as sternly as I could at him and then smiled.
The look of relief on the poor passenger’s face was hilarious.
I told y’all how the Butcher and I got in a “fight” once (using skills from the amateur professional wrestler I mistakenly dated) at a party and how no one realized it was fake even though I was still on my feet after three seconds?
God, I’m sorry. I just love that guy.
If anyone needs his own vblog, it’s the Butcher.
Oh, and I forgot to tell you that, not only is Mrs. Wigglebottom surprisingly well-behaved when she is attacked by puppies, she has finally learned to jump up on the Butcher’s bed and lick his face when I say “Go get that boy!”
She still doesn’t know our names, but she does now know the world’s most useful trick.
What a good dog!
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