Ouch-y

Dear Diary,

Happenings yesterday!  Dad brought a rotisserie chickie-bird home from the market and the whole kitchen smelled wonderful.  He gave me a hotdog with cheese for dinner, like always.  I ate, but then sat waiting patiently on Mom to get home from work because I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into that chickie bird. 

When Mom got home, she put that chickie bird in the microwave to warm it.  The smell got even better.  I could hardly wait.

When Dad dropped a big part of the chickie bird  onto the floor, there was no time for thinking... so I lunged for it to keep Mom from grabbing it up and I *gulp* swallowed it whole.  (otherwise she would have prodded it from my jaws).  

What a sensation.  I couldn't taste a thing.  It was piping hot. Whew!! Ouch-y!  After rubbing my face on the rug, and shaking my head a few times, I barfed up (according to Mom) everything I'd eaten in the past ten days.  

Most of the night was spent outside eating cold grass and feeling like the prize might not have been worth the pain or visa-versa.  Something like that.  

Mom says I'm a pig. I say if she'd let me eat what I want, when I want... I wouldn't have to go to these drastic measures to get a good piece of chicken.  


 Whatever. Gracie.