He is nine years old.
He was my baby before I had babies.
Thunder and fireworks scare the bejesus right the heck out of him.
I bought a Thundershirt, but he hates clothes, so for now, the Thundershirt is on the back burner.

He lives for a spirited game of laser with the children and bacon.
He loves bacon.
And the laser.
If only he could finally catch that damn red dot and find a big slab of bacon.

In the meantime, he will flop in the corner of the kitchen, under the drawer where we keep the laser pointer, waiting for the next game of laser.


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