I’m sitting with my little brother Salem when he holds up his front leg and licks it, “I injured my leg saving that stupid chipmunk again. Oh, the battle wounds I have…”
“Ah,” I nod, trying not to encourage him.
He holds up his right paw and points to a missing patch of fur on his butt, “And this is from a two-year-old’s red sucker one fateful Halloween night.”
I look down at my soft, clean paws and wince.
He continues gloating and slowly thrusts his head at me, “This nick in my ear is from a nasty fight with a stray in the alley last year.”
I can’t take it anymore, and before I can contain myself, I shove my face in his and point to a chipped tooth, “Well, get a load of this!”
He grins. “You tripped on your way to the food bowl, huh?”
I lower my head and walk away, whispering, “It still hurt, you know.”