Sophie Forgotten (Note, I accidentally wrote this on- Pennie's diary first, due to my stiff, cold paws

Last night Mom had to go out for a meeting. First off, this violates all rules of the house. Mom is NOT allowed to go out, unless she is accompanied by one of the children, or one of the dogs. We can not allow Mom to have any Social Life for fear that she will learn that there is something beyond the life of Oppression that we have for her. Since this meeting was not a "fun" activity I suppose we had to make an exception.

I was left home at the mercy of Middle Lad, Little Lad, and The Wee Lass -- all of whom completely Forgot Sophie.

No one even noticed that I was abandoned outside, in the cold.

When Mom came home, after hours away, Pennie greeted her enthusiastically. Mom broke up an argument between Little Lad and Wee Lass, but was secretly relieved that the argument had not led to an emergency room visit.

Mom could not find ME, Sophie.

A Sophie Search Commenced.

I was finally found, huddled outside in the dark, giving in to my fate to be eaten by a coyote, or to suffer poisoning because all I had to eat was acorns.

Mom held me close for the rest of the night.

Band Friend is OK

I have finally decided that Middle Lad's Band Friend is OK. Ever since the beginning of August, Mom and Band Friend's Mom have been sharing driving duties to transport Middle Lad and Band Friend. They are both part of "The Pit." "The Pit" is comprised of the instruments that are at the front of the Football Field during the Marching Band Show. Middle Lad plays the Synthesizer. (And for any old-time Marching Band Geeks -- the new-fangled Marching Bands roll out sound carts with a generator so that Synthesizers and Electric Guitars are part of the show.)

Anyway, I have not once said hello to Band Friend in all the time of car-pooling. When Band Friend gets into the van, I get in Mom's lap until Middle Lad arrives, or go straight to Middle Lad's lap if the boys get in the van at the same time.

Band Friend certainly SMELLS Good. Not only does he have his own dog at home, but even with the onset of cooler weather, teenage boys who have been playing musical instruments are pretty stinky. Probably not as stinky as football players, but the smell is quite pleasant to a dog nose. Middle Lad always needs a through smell-over after Marching Band.

Pennie ALWAYS greets Band Friend. I do trust her judgement -- I am certain that she checks Band Friend over thoroughly, but in a surreptitious manner, so he doesn't realize that ever time he rides in the van he has been checked that he is not a terrorist.

I finally decided that after almost two months of car-pooling, that I would say "hello" to Band Friend. I jumped into the back seat, gave him a quick sniff over, and then went to sit on Middle Lad's Lap. Perhaps I shall begin to greet Band Friend more often. I shall have to see how I feel next car-pool time.

Stay Inside, Space Junk Is Falling!

On or about Friday, September 23rd, a defunct Satellite is expected to enter the Earth's atmosphere and plummet to the ground. The last I heard there is a 1 in 3200 chance of a piece of the broken Satellite hitting a human. In the usual self-absorbed policy of Scientists and Newscasters, the estimate was only given for the chances of a piece of space junk hitting a HUMAN. What about a dog? Or even a Cat? Or any other animal? In fact, the Scientists are trying to assure Humans there is a good chance the falling Space Junk will simply land in one of the Oceans. What about the fish or oceanic mammals? Won't they be a bit perturbed by a huge hunk of space junk falling onto them while they swim up to the surface for a bit of noon-day warmer water?

Pawsonally, I do not plan to go outside at all anytime from Thursday until I hear that the Space Junk has fallen. I don't want to be out in the yard barking at a passerby and get conked in the head by a big piece of non-orbiting Satellite. I certainly don't want to be squatting to relieve myself and get knocked over! What a terrible way to go -- knocked to death by Space Trash while relieving my normal body effluence.

Birthday NOT fit for a Queen

Today is my birthday! I am five. First off, I have decided that despite reaching age five, I shall NOT be going to Kindergarten. I shall remain a Home-Schooled dog. The Public School has eliminated snack time from it's Kindergarten curriculum due to food allergies, and that would have been the only reason to put up with all those jumpy, bouncy, germy students. I do not wish my fur to become laden with viruses and bacteria from those little germ factories.

I expected to be lavished with presents today, as fitting Queen Sophine! I have received extra attention, but NO presents! Mom informed me that I am the only dog to arrive at the family with a Birth Date. All the other dogs celebrate their birthdays as their Adoption Days! I fervently pointed out to Mom that indeed I AM Queen Sophine and with the rare honor of having a Birth Date, I deserve TWO days of gifts: my Birth Day AND my Adoption Day.

Mom said that she would celebrate me, snuggle with me, and treat my like a Queen, but no trip to pick out presents until my Adoption Anniversary at the end of November!

Stupid Mom Questions

I am Queen Sophine. I do find that my own Mother at times asks the most inane questions. Last night, as I lay curled upon/between Mom's thighs, paying no heed to Mom's comfort, I had some bottom business with which to attend. I proceed to lick my bottom.

This is what Mom asked: "Sophie, MUST you lick your bottom while laying on my lap, on the couch?"

I do realize that the woman has a difficult task monitoring Middle Lad, who after only a few weeks, has already managed to fail two Al Gebra II quizzes, and Little Lad, who forgot a Music Project, and of course The Wee Lass; but she has Nannie Pennie to help her with those duties. In the meantime, Mom needn't bother Me, Queen Sophine with Stupid Questions.

Yes, Mom, I DO need to lick my bottom, while comfortably nested upon your lap, and laying upon the couch. I am Queen Sophine -- you don't seriously expect me to lick my bottom while I lay upon the cold floor?

Snuggling and Gnawing

I have not earned the nickname "Queen Sophine" for lack of causation.

Once I settle into a "spot" I do not like to be moved. It does not matter how uncomfortable or how inconvenienced the human may be, or perhaps if one of their limbs is hyper-extended, I am fixed to that spot for the duration of my nap or snuggle. If I am moved, I simply roam about the room and return to that spot.

I have three favorite things: snuggling, gnawing, and sun-spots. What better than to combine two at a time?

One of my favs is to jump into my victim's, er human's lap, with a gnaw bone, and settle down for a nice snuggle, and a gnaw, while the human watches TV. It is particularly nice to lay upon Oldest Lad or Mom while they are stretched out upon the couch. I can lay upon the human belly, and then wedge my gnaw bone into the natural cleft between the torso and the upper arm. It also works to wedge the gnaw bone between the human chin and upper shoulder. Then I proceed to snuggle and gnaw. I have been told in no uncertain terms that the noise of my gnawing that radiates up to the human ear is deafening. I don't care.

This morning I discovered another perfect snuggle and gnaw position. Mom was laying on the couch, administering her Morning Middle Lad Before School Nagging Routine: take your ADD and allergy meds, brush your teeth, put on deodorant, are you SURE you have your homework (Middle Lad still forgot his planner on his desk.)

I snuggled between Mom's thighs, with my upper body laying on Mom's lower body. Then I found the perfect place to wedge my gnaw: in Mom's belly fat. I don't know why Mom was so offended; it's not like there was any noise radiating to her ear, it was all dissipating into her belly fat. In fact, this could be a new way to eliminate belly fat!

Mom WAS quite offended, and despite me being forced down, circling the room and coming back to resume the same snuggle and gnaw spot, I found myself completely banished from this perfect spot. I shall try again tomorrow; perhaps Mom was just upset that Middle Lad did not get up the first time she awakened him today.

Snubbed Volunteers

Just when a Dog thinks they know a human, that human turns on them.

It never occurred to me that I, Queen Sophine, and Pennie, too, would be so blatantly snubbed by our own Mother.

Mom was in charge of arranging the Ice Cream Social for the Public School Marching Band. Mom purchased ice cream, toppings, table covers, bowls, spoons, and all the implements necessary to carry out an Ice Cream Social. Mom arranged with the Public High School Custodians to have the needed number of tables and trash cans placed in the area proclaimed by the Band Director as the Ice Cream Socialization Spot.

There was some concern about the Ice Cream Socialization Spot, as apparently, an Ice Cream Social produces a fair amount of Mess. The Public High School, a busy venue, was to be used the next morning for a Community Event, and the Custodians were going to have to Power Wash the area Post-Social.

Mom went through Proper Channels, aka the Public High School Band Booster President, in order to recruit a multitude of Volunteers to scoop ice cream and dispense toppings.

Pennie and I eagerly volunteered our services: Pennie as both crowd control AND clean-up and me as just clean-up.

We were completely SNUBBED. Mom often comments that the Public School should be inclusive and recruit many volunteers, so it does not become cliquey. Yet Mom had two very hard-working volunteers, anxious to be included, and we were banned. Snubbed.

I still wonder how many plops of perfectly good melted ice cream were power washed out into the sewer that could have been cleaned up by my eager tongue. Certainly it would have been a far better use of resources -- for dog's sake our Public School District is considering a levy in the near future -- for Pennie and I to be used to clean up the area, thus saving both water, and custodial time.

Rental Dog too adjusted to suburban life

Rental Dog Camille has become far too adjusted to life in Suburbia. How do we explain on Petfinder that Rental Dog Camille has spent the last few months learning the bad habits of a Summer in Suburbia where the incumbent Mom has not the time nor energy to prevent counter cruising, begging for food, and couch-napping? Rental Dog Camille shall go to her new home fully expecting to languish upon the furniture and sleep in bed until noon. In her defense, she IS crate trained, and is a hard worker -- she is often the first to climb up on the kitchen table to clean plates.

This afternoon Camille benefited from Wee Lass not wanting to eat her lunch, but desiring to go straight to snack. Unfortunately, Mom has a general idea of the length of time needed for one preschooler to eat a brown pea butter and jelly sandwich. The proper length of time was not consumed, and the evidence of brown pea butter was evident all over Rental Dog Camille's whiskers. When interrogated with firm evidence presented, Wee Lass had no recourse but to admit that she fed her brown pea butter and jelly sandwich to Rental Dog Camille's eagerly waiting lips.

Either Rental Dog Camille will go to a family who will find her "pleasantly broken in" or Rental Dog Camille will have to give up a few habits she has learned from her Summer in Suburbia.

Kennel Attention

This weekend Pennie and I were forced to languish at the kennel whilst the family attended a wedding for Cousin Three. As Pennie already wrote in her entry, our presence was sorely missed, as we would undoubtedly have removed all of the little white bags of tasty treats that were placed at each plate at the reception. It was one (or more) of those bags that Middle Lad delved into, and in his sweet-tooth-ed greed failed to ascertain that not only was the bag non-labelled, but that the hard little nuggets mixed with the pretzels, etc, were peanuts.

Anyhoodles, Middle Lad returned home hopefully a wiser Lad, drugged full of anti-histamine, and itching from head to toe from the full body hives that had subsequently turned to eczema.

Meanwhile, I was garnering a full dose of Queen Sophine Attention at the Kennel. Pennie was quite content to simply "go outside" to do her business. Not me. I shall not reveal the secret to my success, but being Queen Sophine does have advantages as I managed to act pathetic enough that I had to be walked about several times a day, by the Female Kennel Owner, as I refused to acknowledge the males kennel attendees, in order to relieve my bodily effluence.

Now that I am home I no longer receive the royal treatment that is due me, but I am glad to be home. I am in full agreement with Pennie, that she and I between us would have removed and consumed all of the tasty treats, little white bags and all, that led to Middle Lad's unfortunate reaction.

Abbreviated Time

Today was a blissfully cool respite from the heat. In honor of this, Mom and Little Lad were enjoying some time out on the back porch, making bead projects. (Those little beads that get fitted on a tray, and then ironed together.) Since it was cool(er) the sliding doors were left open so that Pennie, Rental Dog Camille, and I could come and go between the house and the porch. The GATE between the family room and the rest of the house was CLOSED, limiting Rental Dog Camill's access, or reign of terror.

Oldest Lad returned home from work early. He got to leave early because someone defecated in the pool. Since he was the poor brave soul who ventured into the pool to fish out the offending substance, he was allowed to go home to take a shower. Small reward, I suppose.

Oldest Lad discovered that Rental Dog Camille had made a brave attempt to don Mom's wrist watch. Poor Rental Dog Camille. No doubt she tried valiantly to strap the wrist band around her leg and latch it. Unfortunately, Rental Dog Camille does not have opposable thumbs, nor does she have delicate lips -- I am certain Mulligan would have been able to attach a watch wrist band.

Instead, Rental Dog Camille, in her frustration must have just nibbled off more and more bits of the wristband.

This evening Oldest Lad shall be taken the watch and what remains of it's wristband out to locate a new wristband.