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Life With Sharon, or, How Much Can a Dog Take?


April 20th 2010 9:34 pm
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Mom's an Engish teacher; the exposition in literature is the necessary background the reader needs to understand the story. Mom met me for the first time in a cemetery; I don't know if that has any significance or not - maybe it means "till death do us part." Anyway, she sort of liked the looks of me and I went home with her - in a crate! Well, I didn't put up with that for very long; I let her know that I had claustrophobia and when she opened the door to comfort me I burst out onto her lap. Wiggles and kisses later, she was convinced - no crate necessary.

From the very start, I was determined to make myself indispensible to her well-being. It was a little rough going at first till she explained clearly where I was supposed to go to the bathroom, but, even though I still have an occasional lapse of memory, we've now come to an agreement on that subject. I show her how much I LOVE everything we do: I LOVE going in the car, I LOVE coming home to the same place I left, I LOVE going for walks, I LOVE my dinner and treats and marrow bones, I LOVE my Salvador Dali bunny, and I give lots of nose bumps and kisses to show her how much I LOVE her.

The first night at my new home, she thought I'd sleep in a DOG bed in her bedroom! I made it very clear that that was not acceptable, not even thinkable! I jumped right up on her bed and snuggled up. There was no further discussion about sleeping arrangements. She did have to get me some stairs to get up and down from the bed, though. Those deep pillow-top mattresses are pretty high for a short guy.

The only thing I would like more of is FOOD. Just because I don't have a wasp waist, Mom thinks she has to ration my food. I even took swimming lessons for twelve weeks to work off some pounds, but it didn't work. So now I'm doomed to diet.


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