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Thanks to my little sister—who is a master at manipulating… well, everyone—I have a new sneaky trick up my sleeve. Oh yeah. There was no other way of course. He left us with no other alternatives. Did I tell you he can eat glass? Yeah, three adults at the same time ganging up on a little ole 40 pounder seems an unfair advantage, but he’s a stout little guy.
In my left hand, I held a folding metal chair and in my right hand, I held the medicine in a syringe (minus the needle, of course). With a white-knuckle grip, my husband held the baseball bat in both hands. He was on my left side, and on my right, was his brother-in-law, who was holding a lamp. We were gonna give him the smack down and force the medicine down his gullet.
We were the wrestling stars of WWE… I was Cherry and the other two were Edge and Montel Vontavious Porter. We began our twisted version of a tag team match… the three of us, all at once, against him.
Hours into our brawl, a twisted folding metal chair in my hand, a splintered baseball bat hanging limply in my husband’s hand, a smashed up lamp, and a broken coffee table later, I came up with a brilliant idea that was certain to give us an edge. The three of us opened a can of spinach apiece and gulped it down like Popeye. Wiping the sweat from our brows, we went in again.
In the end, after much squealing, panting, broken wind, black eyes, and split lips, he turned the tables on us and beat all three of us up... we barely knew what hit us.
Breathless, I crawled into my bedroom, barred the door in case he decided to come after me, called my sister—the princess of evil... the sneakiest person I've ever known—and asked her for advice. Surely she’ll know a way to outsmart him…
“Just put his medicine into some peanut butter. Make sure you mix it up good so he can’t taste it,” she tells me offhandedly.
She’s good, I thought. Frankly, I was awed.
My little sister is so shrewd. After watching me get into trouble all my life with our parents because I was honest, she learned early on how to deal with people underhandedly from the outset.
Cautiously, he approached the dish, took a whiff, and backed up. As if it would smell, or perhaps taste, different from another angle, he went around the dish and warily approached it, sniffed it and backed off again.
At long last, after he repeated the process dozens of times, perhaps hundreds… (I lost count before long) he found a position at which the peanut butter smelled appetizing and dug in.
Success!
Triumphantly, I strutted around like I was queen for the day and made everyone give me a high-five.
Now that it’s over with, Petie comes up to me and sits on my lap. Buggy eyes, wrinkly face, and jet-black mask, he's a chunky version of a Pug—or rather, a pot-bellied pig, as some of my friends refer to him as. He sure likes to eat.
Thanks to my little sister, I have a new trick that makes me feel like I’m smarter than a dog for a while.
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