Mijo..." Robert trailed off, staring at his son. Max was caught red handed, his muzzle fully in one of Robert's cavernous boots.

He was confused. How could anyone, let alone his own son, find the smell of his boots attractive?

"D-dad," Max stumbled back from the boot, "I know this looks bad, but it's-"

Robert snatched the boot away from Max. "W-why?"

Max blushed and looked away, "It just...smelled so good."

Robert loved his son more than anything, and to see him look so defeated made a tear roll down his cheek. Sniffing his boots was harmless, so why not let his son indulge a bit? He handed the boot back, and Max resumed his sniffing.

Just then, Max asked a question that made Robert nearly fall over, "Hey Dad, can I be your footstool?"

Max's puppydog eyes were out in full force, rendering any defense Robert had useless. In what seemed like seconds, there he was, gently laying one leg to rest on his son. To ask to be his footstool? Robert knew that his son was a bit of an odd one, but he certainly didn't expect this!