The little shit has every right to brag. He worked his ass off to get me out of bed and into the living room, and when I finally followed him, he stopped in front of the fireplace and looked at me like, "I love this thing, but I know this isn't right."
And yes, he earned more crunchy treats than he normally gets.
The thing is, it's not the first time. When he was only about a year and a half old, he quite possibly saved our lives.
At least this time he didn't have to bite me, but I have no doubt that he would have if he needed to.