I'm your friend; trust me

The little pissant's done it again. It makes for good dog fodder for the blog, and he's making it real easy for me to send him down the bunny trail.

Oliver's always poised to run somewhere ... out of the house, into the house, out the garage door.  He's just a runner.

Good thing he's had his shots. Pop opened the door between the house and the garage the other day and he flew through it like a greased pig. Out he ran, his nose to the ground. Mom and pop both hollered and called, but the little turd didn't even look back. Pop went after him, and mom saw a couple of cars dodge him. That's her worst fear that one of us will get hit by a car cuz we're not real smart about that kind of stuff. Well, they aren't. I am, because I spent a lot of time running loose in the Valley when I lived there.

Pop finally got him and brought him home, but he wasn't happy about it. The pissant bit him while he was trying to carry him home. He doesn't like to be picked up.

He's looked over the fence a lot of times and acted like he was going to jump.

The snow is mostly gone now, but Oliver couldn't help but look over the fence every time he could. 

I decided maybe I should check it out, and did, but the other side was not greener and I didn't see a single dog treat. I know I've got a good life here.

Like I said, I checked it out.  Not a Yummy Chummie in sight.

So all I have to say about that is, “I'm your friend, you can trust me. Let me help you.” Yeah. More treats for me.