Don’t Shoot Me, I’m Just the Translator

My son’s working on the computer when Lightning the pug jumps in his lap and lays down on his arm.

“How am I supposed to type with a dog laying on my arm?” the boy asks either me or the dog, I’m not sure which.

Lightning looks at me and pants a few times.

“He says you need to start thinking outside the bun,” I tell the boy.

“Ummmm . . .”

“Yeah, I know, it doesn’t make sense to me either, but that’s what he said.”