In keeping with the ongoing theme of my life, which is that even though I plan and scheme, nothing goes as I think it should, the Pickle is performing admirably well. We are hip deep in dog toys around here: rubber squeaky ones, stuffed squeaky ones, balls, hard rubber knobby ones, twisty rope ties, rawhide bones, you name it, we got it. Yet Pickle finds anything left on the floor: pieces of straw from the broom, kleenex (the worst, all over the rug yesterday), a sock that found its way to our backyard (hey, not mine, really), cotton balls, even balls of Boo fur, and turns up with them in her mouth. I bought her a cute little pink bed to sleep in. It has moved from the bed to the floor beside the bed, as Pickle cannot go through the night without a pee break (sort of like me, actually), and we had a couple of accidents necessitating mucho laundry. Think she sleeps in it? Oh, nonono. I found her curled up on my cotton pj bottoms yesterday morning. I was kind of flattered, actually.
And one of the main reasons I got Pickle was to get Boo off his little Boo butt. She works on this a lot, now that his proximity alarm has been dialed down. Now she can jump all over him while he stands there in the shreds of his dignity. But let him try to play with her and she hides under a chair. This morning, they actually had about five minutes of interplay, all Boo's idea. I sat here enthralled at the vivacity. It was over before I knew it, and worth all the laundry, lost sleep, and, oh God, expense.
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