PFFT! And you guys thought I dropped off the face of the earth. Summer vacation is here, my friends. I'm not gonna not write stories anymore. ;P
Notorious con man and irresistible charmer Neal Caffrey was sharing the couch with FBI Agent Peter Burke and watching television. However, it was pretty hard to focus with the almost ceaseless high-pitched whining that echoed through the living room.
Peter glanced from Satchmo to Neal curiously. Neal's face was almost as bad as Satchmo's, however, not event the infamous con could replicate that level of pathetic. The dog's rear end was firmly planted on the ground directly in front of the FBI agent. His ears were plastered to his head in heart-breaking self-pity, tortured eyes staring at the sandwich in his master's hands with such longing that Neal, sympathizing with the poor dog, turned his set of puppy eyes on the FBI agent as well.
Peter stopped chewing, turning slowly to observe the two beggars in horror.
"No wah….uhn-uh!" The FBI Agent firmly declared past the crumbs in his mouth. Swallowing loudly and attempting to shield the precious concoction with his body Peter stated defensively, "And Neal, you already ate!"
Neal crossed his arms and pouted.
"It's not for me, Peter." The con man shot back as if that should be obvious.
The ex-con gestured grandly to the dog, still sitting lazily on the fluffy carpet and panting pathetically. Peter refused to allow his demeanor to falter. The level of desperation in those liquid gold eyes was unnerving.
"You're starving him!" Neal accused.
Peter stared at him, affronted. "I am not!" He declared indignantly, "He's perfectly- look at 'im! He's fat!"
Neal gasped and looked to Satchmo for any sign of emotional distress. The lab whined and licked his chops.
Neal turned back again with a righteous expression on his face. "Satch is a growing dog, Peter- he needs his food. Isn't that right Satch?"
"This is my food. I- He's 5 years old!" Peter spluttered, gripping his defenseless lunch tightly. "The only thing that's growing around here are the dumps the 'starving' dog takes in the back yard."
Peter's death grip on the sandwich only increased at Neal's apparent distaste for his last statement.
Peter Burke slowly opened his eyes and sat up in bed beside his already alert wife, groggily rubbing the sleep from his face. "Yeah, hon?"
"Satchmo's stomach seems to be upset. He keeps whining."
Peter's hands stopped rubbing his eyes. Shoulders slumping in defeat, he groaned loudly.
Elizabeth's face, finally discernible in the darkness, looked worried. Concerned.
The whining continued for several minutes as El made her way to the foot of the bed and her head ducked from sight, attending to the victim. In an attempt to get the overdramatic mutt to stop his whining Peter could hear her trying to rub between his shoulder blades causing the collar to jingle. "He hasn't been like this since he was a puppy…You don't think he ate something do you?" She inquired.
Another wail from the end of the mattress.
You damn drama queen, Peter thought.
He could lie, Peter reasoned, but women, they always found out- especially Elizabeth.
In a slow, wary voice Peter allowed, "I may have given him a PB&J earlier."
He braced himself as El's head emerged from the foot of the bed and he almost cringed. Sometimes Peter wondered if he actually preferred to be staring down a barrel of a perp's gun than being stared down by a really, most sincerely pissed off Elizabeth Burke.
The look on her face promised Peter that he would be on dog duty for the rest of the night.
That's all I got! It's different for me to write a humorous one, but hell, it's summer time! Let it be done! ;P
Hope you liked it!