Ghandi Pan

Our puppy isn't eating. Yesterday afternoon we filled his bowl with kibbles, put it on the floor with a "taduh!" (because that's how he likes it) and then there it sat, all day long and all evening long and all night long, and then this morning when we would have normally given him a fresh bowl of food, his yesterday food was still just sitting there, his lunch from yesterday, so sad and dejected.

When this happens The Holbs gets down on his hands and knees, scoops kibble into his manly hands, and somehow Peter is up for eating then, it's some kind of beautiful male bonding. But this time, even the love between a man and his dog was not enough to make the Pan eat, and thus the bowl is, sadly, still full.

Brandon has concluded that Peter is, in fact, fasting for a very noble cause as of yet unknown to mankind. It's probably canine rights or the political state of the Hamas in the Middle East (he did once pee on a very important newspaper, so don't think he's not well-read), but I suspect that really his protest is something closer to home.

I suspect it's the marshmallow fluff.

I've been bad lately and have been eating peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwiches every afternoon. I've been known to give the Pan a small corner of the bread crust, a corner with mostly peanut butter and not too much marshmallow fluff, because he looks at me with those sad puppy eyes and I am a push over. But Friday when I was having my snack, I decided the puppy probably shouldn't be eating marshmallow fluff. Peter Pan showed his feelings on the matter by peeing under my chair and pooping under the table.

I'm sure that were I to stir a tablespoon of fluff into his dinner that all would be forgiven, but he's already got me dressing on the bed so he can't bite my ankles, and the marshmallow fluff is just where I draw the line.