Buy Buddy Budder and you, too, can turn your perfectly normal-ish dog into a raging lunatic.
This is Wrigley. Wrigley is a 7 month old, gentle, loving, *mostly* good boy. Wrigley has a passion for, perhaps even an obsession with, Buddy Budder. I now have to store it in an upper cabinet because Wrigley recently figured out how to open his treat drawer and helped himself to a few entire bags of his goodies. I found this out the hard way and NO, I don't want to talk about it. The things I saw and cleaned up that rainy afternoon still haunt my dreams and torment my waking thoughts to this very day. *shudders violently* Never again. Hence, the out-of-reach storage of dog treats. Anyway, I digress. As I was saying, this Buddy Budder is Top Shelf Snackage© according to Wrigley. It's a bit more runny and gritty than regular peanut butter, but it smells and looks pretty much the same. I don't have to eat it and he digs it, so it's a win-win situation. Compared to regular p.b., it's relatively more expensive, but depending on your usage, it can last a week or two. Maybe more. Since his initial encounter with Buddy Budder, if he sees or hears me open either the cabinets or the freezer, Wrigley launches a full-on tactical assault of bouncing, spinning, tail-wagging, and derpy facial expressions. He found a way to weaponize adorableness and I am without adequate defense. To further illustrate Wrigley's Buddy Budder infatuation, please refer to the included photos and keep on reading. In the photos, you'll spot an ill-fated jar of Buddy Budder. It WAS a brand new, perfectly good jar of creamy deliciousness mere minutes ago. That is, until *somepup who shall remain nameless as not to incriminate the culprit* (cough-Wrigley-cough) waited patiently for me to open the jar, mix the Budder with treats, fill the Kong, and toss it in the freezer to covertly snag the open jar and abscond with the pilfered jackpot. Now, ordinarily, I would've noticed this right away and saved the jar of Budder from untimely demise, thereby saving Wrigley from an unholy case of gastrointestinal pyrotechnics, and myself from any further permanent trauma. However, just as I turned back to clean up and put stuff away, Skittles (our sneaky feline chonky chick) knocked my favorite ceramic vase with freshly bought hydrangeas off the kitchen table only to shatter on the floor. She had to have put in some serious effort to move it due to its weight and shape. I mean, had this vase wronged her in some unfathomable way and a Godfather-esque vendetta was waged? I only know a gruesome hit was carried out and my vase was the casualty. As if on cue, my boys appeared before me, eager to assist. As they so charitably cleaned up the crime scene and sweetly offered to spend their allowance to replace what was lost, tiny specks of suspicion began floating around in my mind. I desperately wanted to believe that my boys' intentions were genuine, but historically speaking, most times it was to garner favor for a future request. My kiddos are amazing, kind, thoughtful humans, but they're also Master Hackers of the Parental Code. I tucked away my doubts and hoped for the best. They finished cleaning up, but stuck around to chit-chat, which I wholeheartedly welcomed. As they prattled on about video games and YouTube videos, out of habit I let my mind wander to literally anything else. During their spirited discussion on teraflops, (or hell, who knows, could have been pterodactyls) it hit me like a jar of Crunchy Jif....where is Wrigley and, more importantly, where is the Buddy Budder? I immediately called for him and silence followed. So, I checked his usual hiding spots and eventually found him in plain sight. Brazenly sitting up on the couch, the slobbery jar, littered with bite marks, dangled casually from his mouth. He looked me dead in the eye. Almost daring me to try to take it, but also somehow looking sheepish and apologetic. Kind of like "I'm sorry for stealing, mama. Please don't be mad. But you should know, it'll be a cold day in hell when I let you take my jar of Buddy Budder away from me, woman." I knew four things at that moment: One, that jar of Budder was a goner, so he might as well finish it. Two, he and I were both going to pay a steep price for this over the next 12-24 hours. Three, my boys and/or the cat had to have colluded with the dog to pull off this heist because, Four, there was no way this was just a series of unfortunate events. I know you're probably thinking, "but, cats are always knocking things off of tables" and "I'm sure your kids were just trying to be helpful." Okay, well, in her defense, her involvement is highly unlikely considering Skittles has made it her life's mission to wage psychological warfare on Wrigley. And also, cats are a-holes, so there's that. But, my kids? Could they be involved in an illegal Buddy Budder smuggling operation? The answer was glaringly obvious. Hell yes, they could. Looking back, every time I got the jar out to fill the Kong or opened the cabinets for a treat, they begged me to give him "just a little bit more Budder" or "just one extra treat." Like me, they were charmed by the big, lovable, doofus. With a goofy smile, his tongue adorably lolled out the side of his mouth, Wrigley successfully recruited two intelligent kids to do his bidding. But would they, could they, have planned and executed such a calculated gambit? The timing would've had to be precise and the acting, superb. The world may never know. This ruse was almost TOO sophisticated for these players. On one hand, we have a dog who growls and barks at his own farts. On the other, we have two boys who giggle like idiots Every. Single. Time. they see it. These are no criminal masterminds. These are kids who give each other atomic wedgies and try to jump scare the other into to peeing their pants. And this is the dog that loves to sniff butts like a wine taster trying to connect with the aroma by inhaling deep into the glass. It's awesome to just be walking through the house and feel a cold wet nose going straight up Main Street, if you catch my drift. You know, the more I ponder while writing this, the better the cat is looking as the author of this elaborate mischief. *sigh* Probably for no other reason than pure entertainment. Anywho...yeah, helluva journey, huh? Well, long story short, I can almost guarantee your dog is going to go nuts over it. Buy Buddy Budder and you, too, can turn your perfectly normal-ish dog into a raging lunatic. You can thank me later. Read more
