This is Fergus…and I suspect that he is on to me.
In a clandestine caper of snack-a-licious proportions, I have taken to a life of crime, and unlawfully lifted The Captain’s (my fiancee’s) coveted pretzels.
And Fergus, who is an adorable busybody, at the moment, is giving me the stare down while watching me eat the evidence.
I’ve gone rogue.
I have stolen them, and he is the snack sheriff.
I am a thief, and he is the pretzel police.
He is Sir Fergus McFluff of the Clan McFluff, and I can feel him silently judging me.
I am trying not to make direct eye contact in effort to dissuade him. But his gaze is locked on my every move and I can see him in my peripheral vision as he watches the pretzels go from my hand to my mouth and back again.
And as I have mouthful of sourdough pretzel deliciousness, I am caught in his cross-hairs of justice, and I find myself making excuses to his sweet face to justify my pretzel-napping.
On the other hand, he might just be waiting for some errant crumbs to come flying of my mouth in his direction for his own benefit…but that would probably just implicate him as an accessory after-the-fact.
Although I’m not sure if he knows about that contingency.
He does, however, look somewhat concerned that I may crack, and throw him under the bus if I am hauled in and pressed about the pretzels whereabouts. Continue reading The Pretzel Heist