Dear Kid,

Bob the Chipmunk (I named him) has been hibernating in our garage. Turns out our garage is an excellent place for hibernating (warm-ish, dry-ish, mostly predator-free, and you don’t have to build it yourself) until the Puppy gets a snout-full of your scent.

Bob is a dumb name for a moose. happened this morning.

Me: Are you ready to go for a walk?
Puppy: Of course! I love walks!
Me: Okey dokey.
Puppy: Here we—wait! I smell a moose!
Bob the Chipmunk: Wheek! (I don’t speak chipmunk very well.)
Me: We don’t have any moose here.
Puppy: I want to be friends with the moose!
Me: I’m sure all the moose in our garage want to be friends with you too. The chipmunk, not so much.
Bob: Wheek!
Me: Where are you going?
Puppy: Got to find the moose!
Me: I’m pretty sure there are no moose under the car.
Puppy: There might be! If I sniff hard enough.
Me: I don’t think you know what a moose smells like.
Puppy: My nose knows. Don’t argue with the nose.
Bob: Wheek! (Bob is apparently not much of a conversationalist.)
Puppy: Checking under the other car!
Me: Let me guess, still no Bob?
Puppy: Bob? You named him Bob?
Me: Move it, Furry One.
Puppy: Hunting! Very. Important. Hunting.
Me: Puppy! Time to go for a walk!
Puppy: Huh?
Me: Now.
Puppy: Oh. OK! I love walks.
Bob: Wheek!

Love, Mom

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