Keaton was nervous.
Since his daddeh had been gone, he had become a talkie babbeh, as well as growing some mouthie-rocks to help eat more sketties! He drew a “pichher” for his daddeh, whatever that was. He was becoming so smart, he just KNEW his daddeh would be so proud.
The nervousness began to fade away as the soft click of the lock moved.
Keaton ran to the door, his
As the door opened, he saw a man that was not his daddeh, but something far scarier. It was his daddeh…but so mad.
“KEATON!! WHY ARE MY WALLS BLUE!”
His ears flattened against his head.
“D…daddeh…m-mma…de…yo-you…” Keaton stammered out, to the surprise of his owner.
Keaton had thought his artistic pieces on the walls were beautiful, and thought he had done no wrong.
“OH…you’re a talkie now, huh.”
The tone of his voice was smeared with disappointment.
“YIS DADDEH!! AW YU PWOWDIES!!”
“No. I don’t like talkies.”
Within a moment, Keaton was strapped to a chair, and his flubby flappy cheeks stretched to their limit, then held in place with simple hooks.
Tim knew he could keep Keaton as a babbeh forever.
Even if his biology wouldn’t allow it.
“Can’t talk without a mouth, can we, Keaton?”