Three is Magic Number

Roxie is fine. We've been busy and have sadly neglected our blogging duties....

She finally recovered from her neck injury, or whatever it was. It was 6 weeks of hurt for her and misery for us. We hate, hate, hate to see her uncomfortable! But the second course of valium is what finally did it. She is now the wiggly girl she was when we got her....

Rox has developed a plan, as all thinking dogs will do. She goes out for her final duty run at bedtime. Comes in and gets her good-girl treat. Prances, tells us how good she is and then........ back out for trip # 2. Same routine, same treat. So we've caught on and tell her after number two trip she is done. She stands in the kitchen and barks at us. Raa-roo, wahroo, ark ark! Then runs to the door for trip # 3. By this time we are laughing. She gets us every night. As if it's a first run movie and we've never seen it before and don't know what's going to happen next. She thinks we are stupid. She is so blatent, transparent as glass.

So on trip # 3 she sits at the outer door, listening to the night sounds. I guess she might be waiting for a possum to cross the patio - she sits stone still like a statue in the dark. Listening.

Finally we get her in and she gets treat # 3 and we have to carry her off to bed.

Yes, she's back in bed with us. Sigh. Those springtime thunder showers and July fireworks scared her so we had to protect her from them coming in the house. That meant middle pillow.

Sigh.