Thursday, July 1, 2010

The Caged Dog Howls

Nine days ago, my master and mistress did the unthinkable: they dropped me off at the vet’s to be caged up while they traveled. I really let them know how I felt about the betrayal by howling (something that I rarely ever do) as they walked out.

For a week I was locked up while Mary and Lewis gadded about Virginia, visiting historic sites and researching family roots. They saw everything from Edgar Allen Poe's room at the University of Virginia in Charlotsville to an iron gazebo covering James Monroe's grave above the James River in Richmond. (I wonder if his spirit howls at being caged up like that?)

Two days ago, I was sprung. I had a spa treatment--bath and nail clip--just before being picked up, which put me in a good mood. Not one to hold grudges, I forgave my master and mistress and quickly dropped back into the daily routine of eating, sleeping, eating, sleeping, eating, sleeping...well, you get the picture.

They continue to talk between themselves (don’t they realize dogs listen?) about all the things they saw. None of it has caught my fancy except for a painting Mary saw in the Richmond art museum. It’s of an Irish setter playing the pianoforte. Now that’s something to howl about.

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