This is the dog that ate my homework.
This is Millie. Millie is my grandpuppy. Millie is the same age as
my grandson—eight months old for those of you who aren’t doing the math. Millie is staying with me whilst her parents
are on a trip to Italy.
Millie retrieves things. So far Millie has retrieved one shoe from
each pair of shoes in the house, untold number of socks and a very slimy ball
that she helpfully drops in my lap so I can throw it—perhaps with disgust, but Millie
isn’t picky.
Millie likes to exercise—she loves romps in the woods and making
new friends and can’t understand why I won’t let her hang out with the
neighbor’s chickens.
Millie would like to be friends with my cats, but the cats have
taken up residence under my bed and are plotting all the ways that I will pay
for foisting this indignity upon them.
Millie is sighing. She misses her parents and she wishes I would
cut out the screen time and snuggle more. Perhaps it would help me write faster
if she set on my lap with me? Just a little?
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