You Son-Of-A-B*tch, I'm In

Please don’t let the 70’s chest curls and innocent, mismatched eyes fool you.

Goose may look all joyous and sweet-natured, but what he’s really doing here is classic psychological warfare.

I made the mistake of trying to change clothes while he was napping at my bedroom door.

Actually, the real mistake was letting the drawer I was grabbing my shorts from slip through my fingertips—just enough to make that subtle, familiar thud he’s come to recognize as the daddy’s changing clothes sound.

Yeah. Big mistake.

Because whether it’s “duck pond time of the day” or not, the moment he hears those drawers close, this dude is locked in.

Laser-focused.

Watching and anticipating every move I make.

After I unintentionally triggered his internal alarm, Goose did what any loyal ride-or-die companion would do: he strategically parked himself directly on top of the bench I use to lace up my shoes.

This isn’t a playful, obedient “sit.”

No.

This is a tactical, passive aggressive blockade.

This is him saying:

“I don’t know what you’re up to or where you think you’re going—but wherever it is… You son-of-a-bitch, I’m in!”

With Gooseto,

Adrian 🐾

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