Perversity, thy name is Boo...

Small black and white bundle of fluff is laying here, watching me, hairy brow furrowed. Actually, the furrowed brow thing is usual, a gift from his Pekingnese heritage. We have already done the morning drill where I eat the cereal as he watches every spoonful pass my lips, till the bowl gets that hollow-sounding ring, whereupon his ears prick and he starts this little jerky dance-around routine, until I set the last few drops of milk before him. Bless his heart, he never looks at me with disdain if I slurp it down to a mere film on the bottom of the bowl. Well, almost never. Then I come in here to check e-mail, except this morning, it was cold, so I reached into the closet for a sweater. Putting on outerwear is a dead giveaway that I am thinking of leaving, so Boo goes into his "take me, oh, take me" routine, bouncing around and getting right under wherever my feet take me. I explained it all to him, but he is still right at my feet should I change my mind. Except when he is laying by the front door, looking at me, pitifully. That's when we do our every morning reminder that the back door is open, we don't go out in front without our makeup, go out back! Which occasions puzzled head-cocking, so I have to guide him to the back of the house and usher him out the door. Hope springs eternal in that fuzzy little breast. And life would be sweet if your crowning aspiration would be the opportunity to pee on the hydrangea.