Sally (Spot’s mom) is obviously feeding him diet kibble. When we had to put our chocolate lab Bailey on a diet, he wasn’t too fond of the food either. This may explain our beloved pup’s disappearance at dinnertime.
“Where’s Spot” is Eric Hill’s first and most famous lift-the-flap book. We have read it approximately 837 times. Per day. Search is going through a phase where he insists on being held at all times. Recently, he has begun toddling over to the bookshelf – flinging book after book behind him. All in search of Spot. (Ironic, no? Where’s Spot?)
Spot is not a well-behaved dog – as demonstrated by the Jumanji-esque zoo hiding in the nooks and crannies of that house.
Is he behind the door? No, that would be the giant bear currently enjoying a pot of honey. I might try another route in search of the mischievous canine. Bears can be very protective of their honey pots. Just ask the Pooh. (Back slowly away.)
Is he inside the clock? No. That would be weird and you should really get that checked out if Spot could fit in there in the first place. No, that’s a coiled snake hissing. Personally, I would move – abandoning the house and all that’s in it – should I find a snake in my clock. Ideally (given the large series of sequels), Spot’s smart enough to stay far far away from the slithery reptilian innards of the timepiece. (Back slowly away, waving a large pokey stick.)
Is he in the piano? No, that instrument is presently occupied by a hippo and a bird. (Get a room you animals!) At this point, I must come to the very real possibility that Sally has eaten some severely fermented plums from a tree in the backyard and is now teetering around the house in a drunken stupor. Clearly, one hoof of that hippo would have reduced the pink baby grand to smithereens. (When the stool stops spinning, back quickly away.)
Is he under the stairs? Holy shit! No, that’s a lion. If Spot was under there, he’s become lunch. Sucks to be Spot. Ideally, this guy’s a cowardly sort. (Back away. BACK AWAY.)
Is he in the closet? Now see – this would have been a good place to check first. Closets have shoes. Which are often the chew toys of choice for puppies. But no, that’s a muppet, er, monkey. Don’t make him mad – he may throw poop at you. (Careful where you step as you walk away. Search pooped on the rug after bathtime tonight.)
Is he under the bed? Huh. Who knew Spot lived in Florida. Alert animal control! That’s an alligator and they’ve been known to eat small family animals. Chomp. Chomp. (Back away in zigzaggled lines – although Mike Rowe on Dirty Jobs told me that may just be a not-so-urban myth. Godspeed as you go.)
Is he in the box? Well, that’s just mean. Who puts dogs in boxes? I mean, penguins – sure. I’ve seen Madagascar. Those wily penguins are just waiting to hatch their escape plot. Although, at this point Sally should probably be concerned that there is some serious animal trafficking going on in this house. (Pretty sure you can just walk away faster than they can waddle.)
There’s Spot! He’s under the rug. Wait, no. That’s a tortoise. Yeah, I’d hide too if I was in that house.
Spot’s in the basket.
And again! From the beginning! “That Spot! He hasn’t eaten his supper. Where can he be?”
I am a proud proud mommy that I have an obviously brilliant son who is already demonstrating his love for books. I just wish we could occasionally change it up a bit. But
Search is obsessed with dogs. Our lovable goofs Cooper and Scout – and now Spot. I guess it kind of goes with the territory when it’s one of only a handful of words you can say. DOG.
He grabs the book and thrusts it toward me. The whine gets progressively louder and more urgent in the even he’s ignored.
I won’t lie. I’ve tried to cheat a couple times – maybe skip a page or two. This inevitably results in an angry scream as he rips the book from my hands, flips back to the correct page and pushes the book back toward me.
We’ve read the book so many times – even the one-year-old has it memorized.
It occurs to me that the 50 follow ups aren’t merely a way for author Eric Hill to cash in on an ideal widely embraced by all munchkins excited to rip the flaps off each hideaway in eager anticipation of finding Spot’s surprise. They’re to keep parents sane.
I’m going to need to invest in some more Spot.