I would like to formally document an injustice.
My human is making Christmas desserts.
In the kitchen.
Right in front of me.
There is butter.
There is sugar.
There is something warm in the oven that smells like happiness and poor impulse control.
And I am expected to just… watch.
I am sitting very politely. My ears are in the hopeful position. My eyes are doing the thing humans call “manipulative” but I call communicative. I have not barked. I have not counter-surfed. I have not committed any crimes.
This is important.
The mixer is loud. I supervise. The spoon comes out covered in something called frosting. It is clearly not poisonous because my human tastes it and does not die. This is useful data.
Sometimes a crumb falls.
This is called Christmas.
My human says, “This is not for dogs, Skye.”
But then immediately says, “Well… maybe just a tiny piece.”
See? Even humans understand the rules change in December.
I am not asking for the whole dessert. I am a professional. I am asking for:
A lick of the spoon (cleaned, obviously)
A corner piece (quality control)
Or a special dog treat so I don’t feel emotionally excluded
Any of these would be acceptable.
The kitchen smells like cinnamon and vanilla and joy. I am doing emotional labor by staying calm. This is exhausting. I may need a nap directly in the walkway to recover.
If you see a Sheltie sitting very straight, staring very hard, and pretending not to drool… please understand.
At least throw me a snowflake cookie from skyebiscuit.com
She is not begging.
She is believing.
Love,
Skye 🍪🐶