Once upon a time, the human female brought home some tiny cookie pups. Sigyn, bless her warm and squishy heart, befriended hers instead of snacking. I’ve always viewed this as a lost opportunity.
Today, the human female, already regretting eschewing the sweet siren song of sugar for Lent and kicking herself for not chomping her way through all her Christmas goodies sooner, has grudgingly ceded to me another package. This one is a box, though, not a bag, and it doesn’t say “Mini” anywhere.
I wonder how big they actually are? Sigyn, are you ready to find out? (I would like to wait for the human female to be around so that I could eat these in front of her and make little moany and smacky mmmmmbuttterrrr noises, but Sigyn says that would be mean. My point exactly.)
You pull that side of the flap and I’ll pull this one.
By Volstagg’s straining belt buckle! They are definitely bigger. But there are only two of them. No inviting friends over for snack time this year.
Grrr. This plastic is quite resilient. Sigyn is quite concerned. Never fear, my love, I shall use my dagger to open it up. So the doggies won’t smother? Uh, yeah. That’s it.
Hello, scotties! You are free now!
Come to Loki, little dog!
Sigh. Sigyn, are you going to make friends with this one too? What’s that? You think that since one of them is a girl and the other is a boy they should get married so we can have lots of little shortbread puppies?
Um… Might be a bit late for that…