dog race

I feel like it's my turn... but that might not actually be true?

Whit accepted his mother's nosing about at him with a surprising amount of patience.  He was too intrigued by the smell of meat - a scent that sang to him like a siren.  He didn't have the teeth to be able to tear into it, nor the mental capacity to really even understand what it was exactly.  All the pudgy boy knew was that it smelled hella good and he wanted to gnaw on it.

Unaware that his brother was trying to dislodge the meat from his head, Whit scrambled closer to it.  He didn't stop until his front paws were pressed firmly upon the edge of meat that rested upon the floor of the den.  Turning his head to try out different awkward angles of attack, the boy began to suckle at the warm flesh, savoring the unusual but delightful flavor.