“Hey, Bailey. Look at Lucy”
“Yeah. Looks like she is up and at em today.”
“Yeah, you two. It is too hot to play outside, so we have to think of things to do inside.
“I’m already doing it. Laying on the couch.”
“Come on Bailey you need the exercise.”
“How about you Little Potato. Want to play with this toy?”
“How do we play with it?”
“Right now it looks like a nice stole on you.”
“But that is not the intent of this toy. You grab it.”
“Then what?”
“You shake it like you would a wild pig.”
“Oh, my. Wild pig? Where do we find wild pigs?”
“Pay no attention to Lucy. She thinks she is a medieval hunting dog.”
“That is what I was bred for, Bailey.”
“So Twiggy. You shake the prey until you break its neck.”
“Ew. I don’t think I can do that.”
“Yeah, Lucy she’s a puppy and a French Bulldog not a hulk like you.”
“There you go, Twiggy. Tear out its throat.”
“Lucy for heaven’s sake. Frenchies are not hunters.”
“What do they do then?”
“They had been bred for non-sporting reasons since at least 1800, and so their use changed from a sporting breed to a companion breed.”
“Yeah, so can we get Lucy to let go of my neck.”
“Oh sorry, Little One. Got carried away with the hunt.”
“That’s it. I’m taking the prey . . . er, the toy.”
“I will be careful.”
“I think you need a time out.”
“You are not my mother.”
“You want me to tell mom?
“Okay, Time to rest little one.”
“Ah. It is so nice to have you as a big sister, Lucy.”
“Hear that big game hunter.”
“Yeah, I hear it. Thank you, Twiggy. It’s nice to have a little sister too.


































































































