I sees the bisquit tin, the top asunder and free.
We sees the bisquit tin, our bottoms move closer still.
Never must we let the two legs know that that the bisquit tin we seek, pretending not to be interested in such succulent treats that make our noses twitch.
We look left and right, ever shuffling closer to this open treasure chest. Staring off into the distance, looking past the ginger snaps, not even daring one sniff, not wanting an opportunity missed.
The bisquit tin is open, only a paws length away, oh we loves the bisquit tin and it’s morsel of treats.
Our mouths do start to water, our tummies begin to grumble but mummy and daddy don’t notice our sad little place.
We smells the bisquits, in the bisquit tin but we knows stealing is not the way to win.
So, we stare longingly at the bisquit tin and lift a paw or two, to our parents and give them our best glare and Mummy gives us a bisquit as soon as daddy isn’t there.
We sees the bisquit tin, we follows it everywhere. We know mummy’s a soft touch and daddy is as grumpy as a hairy bear 🐻 🐻 🐻