Spot

Scoundrels and Miscreants I Have Known. Spot. He gave me those sad puppy dog eyes when I picked him up from the pound. He was so happy that I had picked him to come home with me. He loved to play ball and fetch the stick. He even learn to sit and stay when I told him to. But then one day, I was making lunch. I was starved. I had just gone to the deli earlier and got a pound of their sweetest honey baked ham and some finely sliced baby swiss cheese. The farmer’s market, on the way home, had the ripest beefsteak tomatoes, crisp butter lettuce and fresh from the oven sour dough bread. These all went into the sandwich I had made, topped with the homemade goodness of Dijon mustard. I turned to pour myself some sweet tea over a tall glass of crystal clear ice. I turned back. My sandwich was gone! What happened to it? I looked and looked. Spot lay on the floor, wagging his tail, diverting his eyes from my stare. There was no evidence. But Spot, there is a spot on your record now.

4"H x 6"W