Fun at the Pet Shop

We went to High Street to buy dog food for Buddy. We bought the twenty kilo bag of chow, with an image of a bulldog on the outside almost the spitting image of Buddy, and some red meat. The cute, smiley wog boy, I presume, son of the owners was there. Damn he’s cute. Great, Tom Cruise kinda, (okay, some people may be squeamish about the Tom Cruise reference, but I mean it in a good way and not a creepy way) smile, beefy build, good legs. Sam commented on the roundness of his great arse pushing out the back of his shorts. And quite apart from his objectification potential, he seems to be a nice guy, friendly and cheerful but, of course he works in a business so, of course, it is a part of his job. He offered to carry the bag of dog chow out to the car, which I almost accepted just to look at him for a little longer, you know, follow him out to the car. Ha ha. But I declined. It was an offer, I presume, men are supposed to turn down.

We bought take away Gr’lled on the way home. There is nothing like some meat when you have been eyeing off a piece of beef. Ha ha, ho, ho. We were hungry by then and it was simply on the way home.