… for the poor, sad, neglected, starving waif face, as perfected by Princess the Lamb and Sandy the
Terror Terrier. Never mind that neither of them are starving, that Sandy’s spent most of his life overweight to varying degrees, or that Princess is quickly developing a pudgy belly of her own. As far as they’re concerned, they are starving. Perishing. Languishing. Dying. Constantly.
I sit down to eat lunch, and I happen to look down and see this:
How could you say no to that face? Then I go out to the Sheep Clubhouse to check the water tub, and I look down to see this:
I think Sandy must have been giving Princess lessons in the fine art of mooching. Or maybe I’m just a softie.