The door slams as Scooby runs into my bedroom. Chatter bounces off the walls as he turns the tv on. I call his name from another room because he is too quiet.
“I’m watching tv,” he says.
He is waiting for me to make his breakfast. His passion is French Toast Sticks, an egg, 2 sausage links, and a bowl of Froot Loops. Life is good as we travel up the steps to the kitchen.
He gets up several times during the meal. The creak of the refrigerator door makes me turn from what I am doing.
“I want a cup of milk,” he says as the plastic container he holds in one hand is mere inches from his toes. “It’s heaby! Get it!”
The spatula in my hand goes flying as I rescue the milk from certain death only moments before it slams to the floor. It will live to see another day.