Shakedown

When Duncan has finished his chewie but I still have mine he likes to come over and stand extra close to me, exerting pressure. His eye is on the chewie, his tail wagging slowly. I have already crawled under a chair in the dining room in anticipation of the siege. Duncan has his nose near my face, waiting for an opportunity. I growl a growl that sounds like an electric toothbrush. I keep on chewing. "Give it to me, Little Dog," says Duncan. "When pigs fly," I tell him.