I have a love/hate relationship with Mr. Gator.

I’d love to take him for a walk, but he hates me.

“Who’s Mr. Gator?” you ask? He is my MIL’s dog, Pepper’s brother and is commonly called Ben (short for Benji or Benjamin, I think).

Then you ask, “Wait, who’s this Pepper you now speak of?”

He’s my fiance’s dog, also known as Pisser. We proudly call him our “son”.

I don’t remember my dreams, so it’s odd when I do.

I had one of those odd dreams last night. It involved Mr. Gator, Pisser and doggie treats.

It started with me booming the instruction to sit to Mr. Gator.

When he finally say down, I tossed him a treat and, like most normal dogs, he caught it in the air.

That’s when Pepper, my fiancee’s dog, came trotting around.

It wasn’t fair that I gave Mr. Gator a treat so I calmly commanded Pepper to sit.

He did so I tossed him a treat.

Unfortunately, Pepper doesn’t play fetch so instead of catching the treat in the air, it hit him in the face and landed on the floor.

Plus, instead of looking for the treat, he just sat there looking at me, giving me the “Where’s my treat?” face.

I had to point to the treat on the floor before he finally caught on and got his snack.