December 10th 2012 8:17 am
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Sunday was a sad, Sophathetic day for me. It started out so well . . . .

Oldest Lad was home Friday and Saturday night. My Precious Oldest Lad. He slept in the basement, on the futon, because his room has been rented out to Wee Lass. Apparently his reward for earning a University Degree and getting a job was to have his room rented out to another sibling. Sorry Oldest Lad, don't let the door hit you in the A$$ on the way out . . . . I should have known that spaces here were only "rented," when I became the proud "renter," not "owner" of an Extra Large Crate. I am NOT an Extra Large Dog. As much as I consider the crate to be my Royal Throne Crate, it's made clear to me that once I'm gone, the next dog in line will move on in to it, much like Wee Lass moved on in to Oldest Lad's bedroom. "sigh."

In the basement, as cars drive up the street, the headlights hit the basement window just perfect, and a quick flash of light glares into the room. Oldest Lad realized that each time he happened to be awake AND the room lit up; that I was sitting up, just looking at him. My Precious Oldest Lad.

On Sunday morning I got up and Oldest Lad let me out into the front yard to "do my business." I am a regular girrrl. Unfortunately, as I was sniffing about the yard, looking for the best spot to deposit my royal bowel movement, I lost track of where I was. I entered crouch position. Then ZAP!!!!!! I strayed across the electric fence! I crouch ran and shook back to the house!

Not only had I been Zapped, but I did NOT get to relieve myself! I was out of sorts AND constipated AND off schedule the rest of the day. Then Mom forced Oldest Lad to hold me while she clipped my nails. To top it off, Oldest Lad left to go home, and I was forced to resume sleeping with Mom and Dad, who were no doubt plotting all night long who was going to be the next renter of MY Royal Throne Crate.

Barked by: Zoe (Dogster Member)

December 10th 2012 at 8:50 am

Uh, Sophie, that starin at Oldest Lad?
Creepy.
Mommy has takin to sittin at the kitchen table to crochet instead of her regular chair while the Granny is here.
Same deal. Starin, and she doesn't even look away. Like that dood in the Edgar Allen Poe deal, The Tell-Tale Heart and the old man with a creepy open eye.

And gosh, I sure hope you can have a good ol' bm soon.

Maybe you better call sumplace to report all the bad stuff that has happened to you. There's probly a law against all that.