Moving, I Doth Protest

Well, it's been a doggone hard couple of days.

Ya see, we moved. Only about a block, but we still moved.
Less space for more money -- pathetic!!!

Now I still have a deck, but I'm protesting because it's not my old deck where I grew up. I miss it. Poor Andrew just has no clue. He keeps looking at me with that Scoobie face as if I should know the answer to this dilemma.

So in protest, not only am I not looking at the camera, but I'm on a hunger strike. Dad can shove the salmon down my throat in the morning but I ain't eatin no vittles at night until . . . . we'll unitl I feel like it. And you can bet that if he takes us up to a dog show in Napa on Sunday (and we're not even entered), I'll go into some kinda tree-sittin protest.

Okay, back to the new deck. It's just not the same. Now if he tells me (again) that anxious dogs (and people) are those who demand certainty in an uncertain world, I may get very Un-Newficious and bite him. (Maybe he tastes like chicken!!)


Satchie