Do Not Underestimate Queen Sophine

Do not underestimate ME, Queen Sophine. My family has not been "overly impressed" with my intelligence. They view me as the most self-centered dog they have had to date.

I don't care. First off, I am too self-centered to care, and second off, I save displays of my stores of intelligence for important occasions.

My Mom enjoys some rather simple pleasures in her life. She is very proud that back when she had Mulligan, she was able to find a dog-proof kitchen trash can. When Mom had the kitchen remodeled, the kitchen designer insisted that the kitchen trash be placed inside a cabinet. Mom just as firmly insisted that she was NOT having her kitchen trash be placed inside a cabinet, because she did not want to have to open a cabinet, thereby soiling the cabinet, every time she wished to throw something away. Since Dad was footing the kitchen remodel bill, Mom won the argument.

Mom found this: Simple Human 30 liter / 8 gallon classic rectangular step can brushed steel. It takes a size "J" liner (these trash cans are far too fancy to take a "trash bag," they take "liners.") Mom loves the way the "J" liners line the plastic insert of the trash can just perfect, neatly, with a pleasing fold at the top.

Mulligan found that he was unable to Dumpster Dive into the Simple Human can, or even to knock it over. No more coming home from an outing to discover the contents of the kitchen trash strewn about the house, with a contented dog, and an unhappy Mom.

Last night, while Mom and Dad were out, Oldest Lad made his usual DiGiorno Four Cheese Rising Crust Pizza. Oldest Lad does does not eat the pizza edges. He wastes them! Oldest Lad threw the Pizza Edges into the Trash!

This is what I, Queen Sophine learned to do:

I took one of my delicate, white furred paws, stepped onto the step of the Simple Human trash cans, and the lid popped open. Right there on top, were delicious, cast-off pizza edges. I snacked on those pizza edges.

My regret is that I am not taller. Now that I have learned how to paw open the step to the Trash Can, anything that is at the "top" of the trash is now MINE, ALL MINE. I have defeated Mom and her so-called dog-proof Simple Human Trash Can with it's perfectly fitting "J' liners as well. I feel quite accomplished.

Halloween Truth, it's horrible

Last night Mom and Dad were talking, and Mom told Dad that she "felt safe with him." Mom has been working a lot on some bad things that happened in her past with a very bad man, so she was acknowledging that he has stood by her while she deals with all this.
Dad said that he felt safe with Mom, too.
Oh, it was so, nice and sweet, and I just snuggled right in, hoping that Dad would not notice that instead of hugging just Mom, that he was hugging Mom AND Sophie.

Then Dad said that "he felt safe with Sophie, too."

Mom said, "why?" I am well known to be Sophathetic, so I was really not disturbed yet.

Dad said he felt "safe with Sophie, because Sophie would bark, bark, bark, at any monsters, and that would distract the monsters, giving Mom and Dad a chance to run away."

Oh. So in the case of a Monster, or THE Zombie Apocalypse, I shall be thrown to the Monster, or the Zombies, so that Dad can escape.

Thanks, Dad.

I am NOT feeling very safe now. Despite being thankful that Mom already said that she was not taking me out for Humiloween because 1. it is too cold and wet and I'd be miserable and Sophathetic, and 2. Pennie and I would get too muddy and then we'd need Humiloween baths.

Preschool Drop-out

I have been asked to leave the Preschool Drop-Off/Pick-Up Line. Yes, I Queen Sophine, am a Preschool Drop-Out.

Every Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday morning, Pennie and I get up with Little Lad and Wee Lass, and then Storm the Utility Room in order to jump into the mini-van and go along for the ride to drop Wee Lass off at preschool. On the drive over, Pennie and I sit in the front seat, looking out as we pass the Public Elementary School, to determine if the Sheriff is watching and will catch any drivers not obeying the School Speed Limit Flashing Yellow Sign. The Sheriff sometimes even catches a School Speed Limit Violator! As we pass the Public Elementary School itself, we bark at any Walkers -- students who do not board the yellow school bus. In particular we like to bark, bark, bark, at any Walkers who are being escorted to school by a parent and a dog.

Once we pass the Public Elementary School, it's on to Preschool. We get in line, with all the other cars, and wait for our turn to discharge our Preschooler, Wee Lass.

I love to jump from the front seat into the middle part of the mini-van just as Mom is opening the mini-van door to let Wee Lass out to be escorted up the sidewalk into Preschool. Then Wee Lass is forced to climb over me, Queen Sophine, as she attempts to get out of the van. There are FOUR Preschool teachers. They are all smitten by my beauty and brindle-ness. Wee Lass is forced to climb over top of me, because whichever teacher that is waiting to escort her must first pat my furry head, and murmur about my utter beauty. Pennie sometimes sticks her noggin out from the front seat, and gets her head patted as well.

Last week there was a SUBSTITUTE. I did not recognize this Substitute Preschool Teacher/Escort. How was I to know if she had a proper background check? I was startled that she did not want to pat my head and become enraptured by brindleness beauty. So I barked at her. It startled her.

Mom got a call today asking that "no dogs accompany her to Preschool Drop-Off/Pick-Up." No more Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday morning rides to and from Preschool.

Mom did not even come to my defense. She said that she did not want anyone to be scared, and that if her dogs scared someone, then she would leave them at home.

Oldest Lad Visit

Oldest Lad visited on Friday night, into Saturday, and he went to the brand new Jungle Jim's grocery store. He bought a gigantic PIZZLE for me (and one for Pennie.)

Mom said that there would be NO Pizzles on the bed. I guess since Dad was out of town, when Mom said No Pizzles, she wanted the bed completely Pizzle-free.

The Pizzle had to be about 30 inches long. I gnawed and gnawed, and gnawed some more. Mom did not have to worry about any pizzles in bed because my jaw was exhausted by then, and all I could do was jump up on the bed, to rest up to pizzle-gnaw some more on Sunday. (Is it OK to pizzle gnaw on Sundays?)

Banish-ed.

Last night was a Watershed event here at my Realm of Suburbia: Middle Lad went to the Homecoming Dance. WITH a GIRL. He got all dressed up in a cheap suit, hand-me-down white shirt, and a new tie. (Mom refused to buy an expensive suit for someone who is "still growing.") He looked quite good, considering.

As Middle Lad is not yet "licensed," and neither Pennie nor I were willing to loan him one of our County Licenses, Dad had to perform the Chauffer Services. Dinner took less time than estimated, so there was time between dinner and "the dance." Dad brought Middle Lad and GIRL home to hang out in the interim.

I, Queen Sophine, was BANISH-ED.

As soon as GIRL walked into the house, I tried to jump upon her, to let her know how beautiful she looked, and also to warn her that from my own paw-sonal experience, the floors can be very slippery, and with those stiletto heels, GIRL better be careful not to slip and fall. (I do not have experience wearing stiletto heels, but I do have experience with my delicate white-socked paws skittering across the slippery floor.) And of course considering the lack of length eye-fully apparent with GIRL's dress, one would not want to see her fall and embarrass herself. (Okay, perhaps Middle Lad would have enjoyed that, but not the rest of us.)

I was only trying to be kind, but I was scooped up like yesterday's recycling, and deposited in Mom and Dad's room! With ONE, yes ONE, single french fry for a treat.

I spent the next hour crying and howling and expressing my utmost despair. In the meantime, Pennie was allowed FREE roam of the house, free to snatch more french fries from Mom, Dad, and Wee Lass, and free to attempt to goose GIRL anywhere she wanted.

I don't think I shall enjoy this "dating" thing.

My Life versus the Flooring

Mom and Dad went out this morning to look at tile for the foyer. This is what happens every morning: After spending the night sleeping between Mom's legs, or trying to gain that coveted space of snuggled between Mom and Dad, I wake up each morning thrilled to see Mom and/or Dad, and am thoroughly excited to see them, despite having spent all night actually touching one or the both of them. I then proceed to prance down the stairs, gleefully happy that I get to go outside, and happy to be with Mom and Dad. I then get to the bottom of the steps where I slip and slide, and crash into the rug in front of the front door. Some mornings, despite the rug crash-pad, I still manage to propel myself full-throttle into the front door.

As Mom was looking at new tile for the foyer, she noted that much of the tile is very "shiny and slippery." She thought of me, prancing down the stairs, and then hitting that shiny, slippery tile, and my little Sophie white-tipped feet sliding out from under me.

My Life hinges upon whether Mom decides to pick a shiny, slipper floor tile, or is willing to go with a "rougher" tile. Otherwise I am certain that I will inevitably succumb to the repeated head injuries that I experience when I skitter across the floor and thump against the front door.

Birthday Vomit Watch

Today is my birthday, but I am once again getting NO treats or celebration. Pennie had no official birthday, because she was sent over to the NO-KILL shelter from a Kill Shelter. Her birth date was lost in the transfer, as well as any idea of what happened to the pups she had recently birthed.

When I was banished to The Shelter, I DID arrive with a Birth Date. I know not why my original family chose to Banish ME, Queen Sophine, but at least I had my Brindles and my Birth Date.

To be fair to Pennie, my family celebrates my Adoption Day, not my Birth Date; paying no heed to MY needs.

Today however, I am under "Vomit Watch." My Mom is certain that I shall suddenly spew forth, for last night she found a big splinter missing from my favorite Antler Gnaw. She is quite certain that I swallowed the missing piece, and that at an inopportune moment I shall erupt forth, spewing out the contents of my stomach and the missing antler piece. I refuse to volunteer whether the piece is simply laying around the house somewhere, or if I indeed swallowed it. If my birth date is to be neglected, then Mom can spend her day worrying that I shall be come Sophie, Weapon of Terror.

Sophie Horse

Oldest Lad took Pennie and Me for a perfectly lovely hike today at a park that was formerly a horse stable and trail. In the midst of Suburbia it is almost like a get-a-way; quiet and full of trees and logs and wonderful smells.

When I got home, however, this is what I got: B-A-T-H. Actually a S-H-O-W-E-R.

Instead of using the usual SALON Formula shampoo, fit for ME, Queen Sophine, such as Paul Mitchell or Biolage, all products expensive enough to groom my lovely Brindleness, Oldest Lad retrieved the Cheap Shampoo that Little Lad and Middle Lad use.

I was washed in: Mane and Tail. Horse Shampoo.

After I was washed, I was hung out to dry on the back porch. I am quite certain the my bark, bark, bark, has turned into a whinny, whinny, whinny. I even feel my legs prancing.

Sophie Rorschach

With my beautiful Brindle patterns and white chest and white accent markings, I have realized that I, Sophie, am akin to a walking Rorschach Test. The Rorschach Test is famous for it's inkblot patterns to which the test taker provides his/her own response.

According to the website deltabravo.net
"The theory behind the test, created by Hermann Rorschach, is that the test taker's spontaneous or unrehearsed responses reveal deep secrets or significant information about the taker's personality or innermost thoughts. These days most reputable psychologists feel the Rorschach is unreliable at best and dangerously misleading at worst."

This is what I, Queen Sophine think: My beautiful Brindle Markings can be gazed upon with utter awe and admiration. The spontaneous response to a Sophie Rorschach test should be feelings of awe and admiration at my beauty, and an intense desire to give me a snack. A response that is outside of those limits means that the test taker is deeply disturbed and has deep character flaws.

Therefore, a Sophie Rorschach Test is easy to interpret, a much more modern and improved version of the original test created by Rorschach, but perhaps he did not have a beautiful Brindle girrr in his life.

Focusing on The Sophie

This morning Mom got up with Middle Lad and then plugged in her ear buds to listen to her usual Mindfulness Meditation Trash. I have no way of know what she is really listening to, because Mom does not share well. Her ear buds are strictly off limits, even to my gorgeous brindle ears. I suspect that Mom is actually listening to Cult Chants that will eventually cause her to suddenly snap from the tenuous grip on reality that a lifetime of being a Mom has left her.

Anyhoodles, I climbed into Mom's lap and soon discovered that Mom decided to Focus on The Sophie! She focused first on The Breath, her own, then she began to focus on ME! Just the way it should be! ME, Sophie, All About ME! She listened to my breathing. She listened to the rumblings of my body. She smelled the essence of Sophie; which was not hard as my bottom was planted underneath her chin. Mom focused on the feeling of touching my fur in different areas, and the weight of my body upon her own.

Perhaps Focusing on The Sophie will bring about Mom's own well being, but it certain helped MY well being!