Southern Sophie

Yesterday Mom, Dad and Oldest Lad abandoned ME to the erratic care of Middle Lad while they headed to Louisville, KY to look at prospective dwellings for Oldest Lad. Fortunately, on Friday night one of Little Lads friends called with an offer to have Little Lad spend the entire day with Friend's family. I was quite certain that if I was left at home with Middle Lad, Little Lad and Wee Lass, that SOMEONE would not survive the day, and I feared it would be ME. With Little Lad out of the picture, I expected not to be fed or let out, but at least I would survive the day.

What I did not expect was that within minutes of arriving in Louisville my family began to whore around with another dog -- named Sophie! While walking on the sidewalk to look at an apartment, Mom "of course" had to stop to pet a little Beagle-mix, and then started chatting with the Beagle-Mom, and that turned into the Beagle-Mom actually volunteering at the "Old Louisville" Chamber of Commerce. Mom then whored around with this Faux Sophie while Dad and Oldest Lad talked Louisville Living with the Beagle Mom!

All I heard about last night was how this Faux Sophie had zero work ethic, just like ME, and just wanted to be petted and fawned over.

Excuse me. That little Southern Faux Sophie obviously did not OWN her sidewalk. I OWN the sidewalk in front of my Realm of Suburbia. NO ONE treads across my sidewalk without ME giving them a fearsome bark, bark, bark! The Faux Sophie was willing to talk to "anyone," as long as they gave her ears a rub.

I can't believe that my family cannot be out of my sight for even a day without whoring around with another dog; a Sophie Dog, even.

Then move to the couch.

Last night I was sleeping in my usual spot, in between Mom's legs, at the bottom of the Concrete Queen. I had my head hanging over her left calf, and I was snoring away. In the meantime, Dad was laying on his back, with his own large nose pointed in the air, snoring away.

Mom was not happy with either the noise, or the fact that her left hip/thigh was in a hyperextended position due to me being in such a comfortable Sophie-Ball, snoring away amidst her legs.

Mom finally gave Dad a few soft jabs, then a few progressively firmer jabs, until he woke up enough to "turn over, you're snoring." Then she grab my whole body, slid it up the bed, and laid me next to her.

I was quite disturbed from my slumber. I immediately gave a loud "huff" of a snort, walked down the bed, and curled back up in between Mom's legs, with my head in the same spot, still warm, on Mom's calf.

If Mom is so disturbed by my snoring, combined with Dad's snoring then why doesn't Mom just move downstairs and sleep on the couch?

Adjustments

It seems that Queen Sophine can not make any of her minions happy. Oldest Lad has moved back home, on a temporary basis, as he is now an Unemployed College Graduate. I assume that it is "temporary," because thus far he is living in his bedroom upstairs. I believe "permanent" status is achieved when an Unemployed College Graduate moves into the Basement.

Anyhoodles, I started out as Oldest Lad's Foster Dog, Rental Dog Sophie. In those heady, beer-soaked University Days, I slept until noon, played XBOX360 all day, ate Sidewalk Sandwiches from the trash strewn University Streets, and partied all night. Then I went from Rental Dog Sophie to Queen Sophine, ruler of my Realm of Suburbia. The adjustment in sleep schedule was exhausting.

With Oldest Lad home, I am not quite sure of the role that I play. I insist on sleeping with Mom at night. Then I spend all day sleeping on Oldest Lad's bed. I have become almost a complete slacker when it comes to keeping an eye on Suburbia. If a family member comes home, they are greeted enthusiastically by Pennie, but I am nowhere to be found. At times I have not even arisen when there is a knock at the door; choosing instead to bark, bark, bark at visitors from the comfort of Oldest Lad's bed. Mom says it is not very effective for someone at the door to hear a distant, echoing, sleepy, bark, bark, bark.

Pennie has made it clear that Oldest Lad is the Unemployed College Graduate, not ME, Queen Sophine, and that I must continue in my duties of bark, bark, barking at all who tred upon the sidewalk in front of my house, or knock upon my door. Mom has made it clear that SHE expects to be greeted enthusiastically, not just by Pennie, but by ME, Queen Sophine, as well. Dad has made murmurings that perhaps if my Work Ethic does not improve then I can just move out with Oldest Lad (if he indeed does move out,) and the family can interview Shelter Dogs for one with a High Work Ethic.

Throne Room moved for me to suffer alone

These past few days I have suffered from a upset tummy. Mom is not sure what I have gotten into, but I do seem to feel better now. In the meantime, My Royal Throne Room has been moved. The family refers to my Royal Throne Room as a Crate. This is a misnomer. Queen Sophine does not relegate herself to a "crate." Yes, the inside of my Royal Throne Room is quite austere, plain beige plastic, but that is so that I can meditate inside my Royal Throne Room and not be distracted.

My Royal Throne Room now resides underneath Little Lad's Loft Bed. The upstairs hallway is undergoing renovation, and the crate needed to be moved from it's prominent presence at the top of the stairs, where I was able to see the front door, and hold reign over the entire household.

Last night I was forced to spend a second night sleeping in my crate, er my throne room. I was NOT happy about that situation. My crate, er throne room is for meditating, NOT for sleeping. I made it quite clear through my long, pitiful, I mean sorrowful wails, that I wished to join Mom in her bed. Mom ignored my long, piercing intonations. How can a woman be that cruel?

Why would Mom not minister to me in my time of need? When Mom has a tummy upset, I do not leave Mom abandoned and lonely. I am happy to join Mom in the bathroom if she needs me. But me, Queen Sophine, at the first hint of vomiting all over Mom's bed, or even a small portion of Mom's bed, am abandoned, cast off, to suffer all alone. I did not know how cold-hearted my Mom could be.

Sophie Love

The question came up this morning of whether or not I love my Mom. Oldest Lad commented that he was not completely sure that I really loved even him.

Admittedly I am entirely self-absorbed. I think the best way for my Mom to know if I love her would be for her to go make me a sandwich, right now. Yes, I would truly love her, and she would know I love her, if she would make me a sandwich, right now.

I am NOT Sophathetic!

Every since I came back from Camp Kennel, my family has been making fun of my bark, bark, bark and calling it a Sophathetic Bark.

My bark, bark, bark, has changed it's tone to a much higher pitch. My family is of course doing what everyone likes to do: blame the victim. They are blaming my high pitched Sophathetic bark, bark, bark on me being hoarse from too much bark, bark, barking at Camp Kennel.

In this blame the poor victim mode, who happens to be ME, Queen Sophine, my family is unable to consider that perhaps I have tonsillitis. Perhaps I have Strep Throat, Scarlet Fever, and Rheumatic Fever, and because I am covered in fur, they will never notice the tell-tale pink rash and joint swelling until I am done for. Perhaps my adenoids and tonsils need to be removed, requiring me to be on an ice cream diet with couch rest for at least two weeks. Or I have diphtheria, and a sled team of dogs must frantically race in antibiotics for me and the rest of the dogs of Suburbia.

I shall surely succumbed to whatever is making me hoarse before my family ever gets out of their blame the victim mode, and then they shall be sorry.

Vacation PupDate

Mom and Dad left me at Camp Kennel for a week, while they frittered away their time at some ridiculous beach vacation. I was brave, not Sophathetic, this time, marching right into the Camp Kennel Run, and not even saying good-bye. In the Camp Kennel Run next to me, Pennie stood up and soulfully pleaded at Mom and Dad not to leave her. Naturally, Mom worried about ME all week, as she is used to me being Sophathetic, not Stoic Sophie.

Oldest Lad came and sprung Pennie and Me from Camp Kennel early, as he only was able to fritter away his life at the beach for a few days. He had a deadline to clear out his apartment, and move all his belongings home, for he has now joined the ranks of Unemployed College Graduates. I think Unemployed College Graduate is perfectly fine, and I look forward to sleeping until noon every day, then watching movies until the wee hours of the morning.

Oldest Lad insisted on giving Pennie and Me our post-Camp Kennel baths. That is when it was discovered that I have a mysterious nose injury. Just one perfect pink dot, the size and color of a Ticonderoga number 2 pencil eraser, on the exact middle of the top of my perfectly proportioned black nose. During the post-Camp Kennel bath the scab broke off, and after my bath, I scooted all around Mom and Dad's bed, covering their comforter in Sophie blood. I had to exact SOME revenge for being left at Camp Kennel, didn't I?

I shall keep the origins of my nose injury a secret. Mom is not worried that I was bitten, or came to some ill demise while at Camp Kennel. As I have decided to keep my loose lips quiet about how I managed to injure my nose, Mom can only assume that I did it to myself, for it simply doesn't look like something that was done to me. My hope is that I shall obtain a permanent scar, and forever more Mom can look upon my nose and feel guilt about abandoning me while she accomplished nothing at some stupid beach.

unsympathetic -- I have my dignity!

Oldest Lad has been dog-sitting for Shamu and that over-grown Mutt, Calbert. Shamu and I get along fine together -- she is a cautious, worry-wart type of dog; just my kind. She bark, bark, barks, at everything, and refuses to warm up to anyone. I can respect that.

Calbert is an over-grown lug with the intelligence of a lug-nut, but not as much use as a lug-nut. He has demonstrated over-enthusiastic interest in my hind quarters, despite both of us being neutered. When I am forced to be around Calbert, I keep my hind quarters firmly planted to the floor or ground at all times.

Calbert is displaying overt displeasure at the absence of his family. He has chewed upon Oldest Lad's "Old" pair of Birkenstock sandals. Fortunately it was the "Old" pair, or Calbert might awaken to find parts of his massive ears turned into new leather straps for the expensive "New" pair of Birkenstocks. Somehow Oldest Lad convinced Mom that after two knee surgeries, only the finest of sandals would support his knee, and thus manipulated Mom into purchasing Birkenstocks for him.

But I digress.

Calbert with his massive cranium, but under-developed Brain, wanted to watch a DVD, but in his frustration decided to EAT the DVD, and DVD Case, instead of using the DVD player. Oldest Lad now owes "Red Box" $39 for a $1 movie rental.

Oldest Lad has been allowing Calbert and Shamu to sleep with him, but apparently Calbert has still become Suicidal. After chewing up a milk carton and a pizza box, Calbert decided to chew up a kitchen knife. Oldest Lad was quite surprised to sit upon the family couch and discover a kitchen knife poised near his thigh. Again displaying his complete lack of intelligence, Calbert chewed the WRONG end. He ate the handle end of the kitchen knife, not the business end.

I don't care. I am completely unsympathetic to Calbert's woes and displays of separation anxiety. I am used to displays of separation anxiety. Pennie is well-known for her forays into "Remodeling" when she feels separation anxiety. Ever since she began the carpet-removal process in Mom and Dad's bedroom, we have been faced with ever-emerging chunks of carpet pad. (In Pennie's defense, the carpet IS ugly.) Pennie has many other "Remodeling" projects. I am not sure the correlation between House Remodeling and Separation Anxiety, as I prefer to whine and cry, but Pennie turns creative when she feels anxious.

Calbert can chew upon the business-end of a kitchen knife, for all I care. I do not want Calbert and his Sophie-Bottom-Obsessed Massive Cranium residing at my house.

Global Warming Sophie

The Tristate is under a significant heat wave, with temperatures in the mid to upper 90s, and then reaching to 100 degrees! Fortunately, my Realm is cool and comfortable, with the shades drawn, and the A/C on. I do venture outside to the back porch to chew on my Bully Stick. Mom and Oldest Lad bought Bully Sticks for Me and Pennie on Tuesday. In yet another of Mom's archaic rulings; she has stated that no Bull Pizzles are to be allowed inside the house. A dog towel was laid upon my back porch chaise lounge and I can chew on my Bull Pizzle in comfort on the back porch, but my one successful attempt to get the Bully Stick into the house resulted in the Bully Stick being thrown unceremoniously back outside.

Anyhoodles, with the Air Conditioning keeping the house cool, I continue to lay upon Mom's legs at night. It is well known that for a 35 pound dog (I shall neglect to mention the few pounds I have recently stowed about my mid-section,) anyway, for a "35" pound dog I put off a significant amount of DTUs: Dog Thermal Units. In the winter time it is very nice to have a DTU-emitting Sophie snuggled against one's skin. This summer Mom has been complaining about the excess DTUs. I do fear that if word gets out, that I shall be accused of Global Warming; blamed for this current heat wave, and even the excess carbon that I add to the back and/or front yards frequently throughout the day.

I plan to bark, bark, bark at any Environmentalists that come knocking at my Realm, and as soon as Pennie has sufficiently overcome her Mental Breakdown, she shall be put back on Full anti-DTU-Environmentalist's Alert.

Forced to Dog-Up

I am not enjoying this Annual Blowing Up Suburbia Event. Pennie, ALPHA Pennie, has suffered a complete Mental Breakdown due to the fireworks and has been sedated since Tuesday night. How can Pennie abandon her role as Alpha in order to have a Mental Breakdown? I have been forced to take over and actually get my paws dirty!

As Queen Sophine, I enjoy the fact that the Monarchy is Dead. Why should I care if my position is merely as a Figurehead. I am happy to leave decision making to Pennie. I love to lay in the Bay Window, or upon my back porch chaise lounge, and bark at the wildlife that wanders into my Backyard Realm. Why do I care if the Deer eat all of Mom's Hostas? I do my Queenly duty and bark, bark, bark, at them, letting them know that I do see them, that I am Queen Sophine, and that I disapprove of their actions. I am very good at looking disapproving and regal.

Pennie is simply going to have to get over whatever mental problems she is having and get back to work. I am not cut out to be a working dog.