The Nutty Irishman
My response to an only-somewhat-justified stereotyping comment from last March's Luck of the Irish.
It would appear that table scraps, AKA “people food,” might be a bit more difficult to acquire with my new family.
The woman seems to be weakening,
succumbing to the power of
“the eyes,” but the big, bald one, the man, he seems to be immune to it.
Today he actually ate a meat sandwich in
front of me. A soulful, longing glance and a forced tummy rumbling only got me a sincere word about my safety should I attempt to take some. I believe this to be true.
At one point, he dropped a piece of what I can only assume was salami or some type of pimento loaf.
I was certain that once it hit the floor, it was “dog’s domain.”
However, it never hit the floor. Like a giant, bald mongoose, the man grabbed the errant meat in mid-air and returned it to his sandwich.
I should have guessed from looking at him that this man never let any piece of his meal escape him.
The woman is my only chance.