We slept with the windows open last night, and the cool October breeze was delicious. I awoke before 7, and looked forward to my Herald and coffee, before greeting the house painters who have been a part of the Villa Wifey scene for the past several weeks. I should have known the moring wouldn't be quite so bucolic.
Last night, Wifey found the Ancient Labrador with her nose in an empty bag of puppy food. D1 took Madeline home yesterday, leaving about 2 lbs of her chow in the closet. Wifey figured the Lab had treated herself; I knew better: it had to be the evil Bassett Hound Molly.
In their life of doggie crime, Molly is always the instigator, and Honey the Lab the befuddled accomplice. Although we didn't have eye witness testimony, I'd have bet that Molly was the one who found the puppy food, ate most of it, and left the crumbs for Honey.
During the evening, Molly began to whimper pathetically. Wifey, the queen of romantic personification, was convinced the Bassett "missed Madeline." Ha! As if!
I took the Bassett on a mile walk, and she was fine. I started to question my diagnosis. We crated her and went to bed.
Alas, this morning, the truth was revealed. I spent 1/2 hours cleaning up the egested puppy food. It took up my precious morning time.
And so, back to normal. The Bassett wasn't at ALL apologetic --she howled for more food.
The painters are here, and the cool weather is leaving.
The bumper sticker is true: life begins when the kids leave and the dog dies.
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