There was frost on the ground this morning. The dogs were like: what the HELL is this? We did not order iced tootsies. (Both of them are low to the ground, so they get chilled bellies, too. At least it makes them hurry.)
Lizzie has become a puppy barnacle. It’s very cozy, but not very conducive to work. When she was tiny, she fit easily in my lap, even with the computer. Now I have to try and type with the laptop pushed out on my knees to the very end of arms length, because there’s a dog taking up the space. She used to curl up in this perfect little ball, but now she sort of sprawls across my legs and over one arm. (I tried to get a picture of this with the MacBook camera, but it’s impossible to do without showing my raggedy-ass sweatshirt, and I DO try and maintain some standards of professionalism in this journal.)
I would feel very loved and appreciated–that my dog wants to be in physical contact with me constantly–but she’s not discriminating. Basically, if you produce body heat, she’s on you as soon as you sit still. And if you’re standing, she’ll beg to be picked up. I know I shouldn’t reward that behavior, but she does this little move where she shifts from foot to foot (to foot, to foot) as if the floor is too cold to bear. What can I do? Her cuteness is the boss of me!
I mean, could YOU resist this face: