I've started packing and someone doesn't like it. That would be the small four legged who lives in this house. I'm not abandoning her on the curb, but you would think that's she had her last taste of kibble and suburban comforts the way she mopes and goes on whenever the suitcases and duffles come out. And the bigger the duffle, the bigger the mope. Since I'm packing for life outside, I have stuff for cold and dry, cold and wet, hot and dry, hot and wet. It's New England, you just never know. It's a big duffle and it's a doggy downer of monumental proportions. She's a little scary looking in this picture though. Doggy downer gone psycho?
So the Dog-ma in me is torn between amusement and compassion at the sight of Rascal stretched out, nose on her paws, watching me with those sad puppy eyes. She'll get over it. I left my bio-babies too. And they got over it. Right? You did, didn't you?
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