Papa wolf and I
Mr. Peabody loves me. He shows it every time. In every gesture. And every time he looks at me. He's my dad. He's my family. And I almost lost him. Because I was careless. Because I didn't listen to him. Even though he was being arrested (just because of biting Grunion that is, something that was epic!) he tried to get me back. In the French Revolution, he saved my sorry butt. In ancient Egypt, he saved my life. In the Trojan War, again, he saved my butt. He does anything and everything to make me happy, and yet, he doesn't ask anything in return. That's how I know he loves me.
He might have all the degrees he want, but he will never graduate from one degree, because is one I think he will be studying forever. Being my dad. And he's the best in the class.
Heck, he knows me so well, that when I was talking why I was so against Penny's wedding with King Tut (He's name rims with butt) he quickly told me I was jealous. Sometimes I wish he didn't know that well.
I will never or ever tell him, I consider him my papa wolf. And I'm his puppy. He doesn't like to admit it, but it's a little obvious. Dogs consider their kids as puppies. He'll get so embarrassed if I ever tell him that. And because I'm no ordinary kid, and I have no ordinary dad, I consider him my papa wolf.