River's Kissing Rules

I have rules about kissing. I am the kisser.  Whoever I am kissing is the kissie. They need to sit there and take it. Kissing is like kicking off in football. Both participants can't kick-off at the same time. Then your balls would be at either end of the field, and nothing would get accomplished. 

Poppa is my main kissing partner. I will give Momma a smooch here and there, but Poppa has totally given up on life, so I can kiss him as long as I want.  

I cling to Momma more than to Poppa.  I wait for her outside the shower. I fret and pace when she's not home.  I sit on her lap for hours on end. But, as a lickee, she has her shortcomings. 

First is that she doesn't want to be licked. I'm not going to spend a lot of energy kissing her if she doesn't appreciate it. Second, she has much better hygiene than Poppa. You can barely get any taste off of Momma the way she washes her face and brushes her teeth. But Papa's lackadaisical bathroom manner leads to greasy skin, and food stuck between his teeth. That is why he is the perfect candidate for a good licking.  

Last week, I was intently kissing him trying to dislodge a bit of corn that was stuck between his teeth two weeks ago when Poppa did the most unmentionable, unconscionable, unprofessional, act ever:  He puckered 

I loathe the sight of the human face puckering.  They suck in their flabby cheeks. Their eyes become even beadier.  And then, for some unknown reason, they try to put their lips on me. Disgusting. 

I made a little moaning sound and looked at Momma, hoping she would tell him to stop. She laughed and told me not to b ea doofus.   A doofus? A Griffon is never a doofus. 

I decided if I closed my eyes when I licked I wouldn't see that awful puckered face. But, the sensitive nerves on my tongue told me his lips were puckering.  I stopped and looked at him with my most ferocious gaze, which is pretty much my everyday look with a little more glare.  

I was left with little choice. I lifted my right paw on to his lips and raked it down his chin. Papa let out a cry and his hand went to his mouth to see if he was bleeding.  I knew he wasn't. A dog knows the strength of their own paws. Poppa looked at Momma, but she remained equally uninterested in either of our plights. 'That's what you get for puckering," she said. 

So, now I have added a face rake to my repertoire. As soon as I feel the onset of a pucker, the claws come out. Although, I do wonder if between the suffocation that can be caused by the rapid movements of my little tongue and the pain that can be caused by my clawing if Papa isn't enjoying this a little too much. 

Regardless, I was able to achieve my goal of making him shut the puck up.