Rascal, and oh yes, the rest of us.

What a surprise that Rascal is the hit of the visiting Kelley-Morgan-Buccieri clan. No, not really. It has been apparent for some time, that Rascal is the most memorable, most charming, most beloved dog around. At least according to some who see her only on occasion. She's wormed her way into my father's good graces and gotten cheese, meat and other tidbits because she lies. She looks up at dad with her big brown eyes and tilts her head and uses her particular form of non verbal communication that goes something like "look how cute and painfully thin I am. look how hungry I am because they NEVER feed me. I am starving and that's a fine looking peice of cheddar (pork, muffin, toast) that you've got there. And you couldn't possibly ignore a poor starving dog while you eat it, now could you?" Suffice it to say, her mind control worked and she left Presque Isle stuffed and spoiled. At least she didn't throw up in the car. The drive down was hideous enough with frozen slush, black ice and white out conditions on the road. I was insane, particularly when James took the wheel.