|Notice? I trimmed the "slippers" on only 3 of his 4 feet. Dion, Mama is a dunce.|
Our goofy Cavalier spaniel Dion DiPoochy has reached the ripe old age -- in dog terms -- of twelve, and still doesn't
know that it's not polite to drag the toilet paper off the roll from the powder room all the way to the sunroom.
Or stare at guests till they accidentally drop food.
Or bark at pedestrians on the street below That Old House.
Or try and romance visiting lady dogs.
Our little guy, who was born right before my very eyes in March 1999, has been with us
since our girls were in middle school, and they are now graduate students.
Dearest Dion . . . stay well. For me.
And one more thing.
On your next birthday, don't let Mother Nature do this:
It's Spring, for goodness' sake! No more snow, or I shall have to report it to the authorities.
It took me 2-1/2 hours to do a normal 50-minute drive on Monday.
Did everyone in north Jersey forget how to drive in the snow? Overnight? Remember January?
Oh, Dion DiPoochy -- my little dog -- a heartbeat at my feet, as Edith Wharton wrote --
don't get mad when I take you to the vet on Tuesday for that little thing near your eye.
I do it out of love. Keep repeating that . . . .
Love . . . Mom