My other dog is a hyperactive Rottweiler.

Father A has been out of town for almost a week. And although yay! I have the place to myself so I can microwave weed, stay up till 2 am and eat ice cream for breakfast, it is getting a bit morose. For one I'm not very good company. I tend to ramble on and cut myself off mid sentence. And the way I keep pushing the hair of my forehead is really beginning to piss me off. I mean I can take me. But in small doses.

Still, Paris and I had a lot of time to bond. It was beautiful. She slept. And when she woke up I fed her. I also occasionally tried to get her to play with the very expensive doggie toys I bought her from Bombay. She noses her way out from under the divan and delicately takes the toy from me. Then she excuses herself and scoots back under the divan. As if to say "Oh, you shouldn't have. But now that you have, give me a minute while I just turn this thing over a few times and determine exactly how expensive, well crafted and worth my time it is."

Her other trick is to play with a ball. I mean how cool, intelligent and utterly show-offable is that? MY DOG PLAYS WITH A BALL. Which means she carries it. Then jerks her chin up as if she is throwing it. Then she will survey in wonder the force, technique and the distance she has been able to fling it. After which, she flops down in sheer exhaustion as she watches.

"Ah. The ball. The ball is rolling. The ball is rolling far. Ah. The human has noticed. The human will pick it up and bring it to me...." Silence.

"The human has not moved. The human is surprisingly inactive for her age. Hmm. As friendly and cute as the human is, I think I picked the worst one of the litter."