If the Oscarman Could Talk
I am Daddy's Little Dog.
How do I know this? Simple, foo's. I'm not allowed on the couch -- at least Mom always gets her knickers in a twist whenever she finds me there. I usually just look at her like I can't understand human-speak, or like no one cc'ed me in on the couch memorandum. But she knows my tricks. Mom is smart. Mom's got eyes in the back of her head.
Dad, on the other hand, he sometimes yells at me to get off the couch. But other times he just lets me chill there while he eats Tostitos and we watch Ninja Warrior together. But then we'll hear Mom coming and Dad has to yell at me or else he's going to get in big trouble with Mom.
Yep. Us bad news bears, we gotta stick together.