We May Have A Self-Esteem Problem Here

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Gentle Reader,

I would post a picture but you don’t even WANT to know about the technology issues my IT department has been facing.  Frankly, it’s a miracle that I’m even posting and let’s not pull too hard at that thread.  

So The Sir is sitting here staring at me.  (Nothing new.)  Expectantly.  Through the process of elimination, I have figured out it is not because he is hungry, thirsty, in pain, in need of an ear rub, in need of walkies (Can you call it “walkies” if I’m not wearing pants and basically stand at the back door trying to hide from the neighbors windows?  Or is a leash required?), in need of a special rawhide, in need of a regular rawhide (we have a rawhide classification system here, remember?) or really anything else.  (No, we are NOT high-maintenance, why do you ask?)

And then I looked down.  And owing to the whole “no pants” situation (look-dinner was mystery soup, it’s been a long day, I just took four “Detox Activation” tablets-Lord help me-and I’m eagerly waiting to hop into the bed and read more about Peter the Great, I think “no pants” is probably at least halfway down the list of reasons I am a mess…reserve judgment) I have temporarily covered myself up with the warm, soft, fuzzy blankie that my Aunt Kathy et al gave me for Christmas.  (I love blankies.)  She even monogrammed it with an “S”.  Which we all know stands for “Silence”.  It’s one of my best character traits.

Allow me to back up.  So fifteen minutes after the presents were opened on Christmas morning, mama and I were in the kitchen getting breakfast together, and The Sir discovered The Blankie.  It has been the subject of a PITCHED custody battle ever since.  I’ll throw it on my bed at night, and in the morning, I wake to find The Sir has carried the blankie over to the couch, and is curled up with it and the stuffed zebra that has miraculously survived, unmangled, since Christmas morning.  He sleeps with it every night.  (These are NOT REAL LABRADORS, I just know it.)  He is absolutely CERTAIN that the “S” stands for “Sir”, and that the gift was just grossly mislabeled.

So we have come to the mediated settlement wherein he lets me think that the blankie is mine, it starts out the evening on my bed, and at some point of his determining, The Sir comes and takes it to his couch or bed as preferred.  With the zebra.

Apparently I do not get early evening visitation on Thursdays as in the standard visitation agreement.

Poor boy, I hope his self-esteem perks up soon.  And I hope I can post pictures sometime soon.

Goodnight,

Wordie

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