She Loves Me, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah . . .

It's been confirmed.

My dog misses me.

I feel pathetically happy about that.

As part of her birthday present this year, my eldest, Ezra, is spending the week at Grandma's, where she:

a) is allowed on the furniture
b) is given bacon on a daily basis
c) is petted and loved almost constantly
d) is handfed grapes by kitty slaves while my mother stands over her with a giant feather fan, and most importantly
e) gets to be the only dog

and yet she misses life at home with Mommy, where she is lumped in, fussed at, and herded around with the other girls, and generally treated like . . . well, a dog.

My mom said Ezra's not eating the food I packed for her, which is nothing new; she never eats her kibble at Grandma's, because she knows that if she holds out for oh, half a day or so, Grandma will worry about her and *make* something for her (yesterday she got bacon, biscuits (the kind for people) and Ritz crackers; sometimes it's a turkey sandwich, other times chicken noodle soup) to get her to eat. So the failure to eat is not an indication that she misses me.

What IS (in my mind, anyway, if not Skip's) is the fact that she, according to my mom, spends most of the day lying on the bed in the guest room, which is where I sleep when I'm there. My mom's bedroom has two twin beds, one of which has been specially made up for Ezra, but no . . . being the good, loyal girl that she is (except when she's being a total bitch--tee hee), she has been dissing Grandma and sleeping in Mommy's bed!

Such a good girl.

I'm going to pay so much more attention to her when she comes home.















Eh, who am I kidding? But I might actually walk her or something . . .