"Goldie ate a whole can of food today," Mom told me this afternoon.
"Great," I said, because Goldie is as picky as a fussy toddler when it comes to food.
"I discovered something," said Mom.
"She likes to eat out of your hand," Mom said.
Nasty, gooey, stank-ass dog food, out of the palm of her hand.
"Moooooooom! I am SO not doing that," I said. "And I wish you wouldn't, either."
"I am NOT spoiling her," Mom said.
Dad and I looked at each other and snorted.
"I'm NOT!" she said, petulantly.
"She just has that long nose and she doesn't like to get it down in her food," said Mom.
"I'm not doing it, Mom," I said. "She's a DOG!"
Mom clamped her lips shut.
Yes, people. I have a dog that rivals any of Paris Hilton's purse dogs on the spoiled scale, but she weighs 65 lbs instead of 3. Next stop: sweater vests. Big ones.