Hudson's not talking to me anymore. He overheard me reminding Mrs Dead Beat that the pup was turning one on Saturday.
"We ought to get him something special," I told her. "Tick preventative, protection against heartworm disease, one of those rubber bones."
So Hudson interrupts, "Enough of the pup business Dad. I'm eleven of your years. I'm darn near a teenager. If you want to get me any medication, get me some zit control."
"You're still a pup. Besides that's all urban legend."
"You can't treat me like this just cause you're older," he growls.
"Sure I can, Pup."
So he turns on his heels and stomps out of the room.
"Hey Hudson," I call after him..."I am not an animal! I am a human being! I...am...a man!"
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