“My Sister is a Thief”

Hi, I’m Ollie. I’m a good boy. A very good boy. All I want in life is toys, snacks, cuddles, and maybe to chew on a bone in peace.

But do you know what I don’t get? Peace.

Because I have a sister. Her name is Stanley. She’s older than me, skinny with a long snoot, and she thinks she’s the boss of the house. (She’s not. Mom is. But don’t tell her that.)

Anyway, here’s the problem: every time I have a bone—MY bone—Stanley takes it. Just walks right up, snatches it like it was hers all along, and then flops down like nothing happened. She doesn’t even chew it half the time. She just has it. To torture me.

So what do I do? I bark. I cry. I run to Mom like the innocent victim I am. And guess what? It works! Mom takes the bone back from Stanley and gives it to me. Because she knows the truth: I’m the good one. Stanley’s the thief.

And don’t even get me started on the ear-biting situation. Sometimes I just want to play. I nudge her, I nibble her ears (gently!), I give her the universal “let’s wrestle” signal. But does she appreciate it? No. She swats me in the face. With her paw. Rude.

Look, I love my sister (don’t tell her I said that), but living with Stanley is hard. She takes my bones. She swats my face. She ignores my playtime requests. And somehow… somehow… she still gets all of Mom’s couch cuddles.

It’s not fair.

Anyway, thanks for listening. I have to go now. Stanley just walked by, and I think she’s planning her next heist. Wish me luck.

—Ollie