Rosie came down with me this week, to have a bit of a vacation by the beach and keep me company, chiefly because I have been very homesick lately. When Rosie is down in SLO, I usually let her sleep on the bed with me (she's SPOILED ROTTEN, I tell you). She's learned how to lie next to me all nice and comfy, with her head on my shoulder, which we both like quite a bit.
The only thing I haven't been able to teach her to do is wake me up in some manner other than smacking me in the face with her paws while yawning and stretching and making her happy morning noises. So I was up at 5:30 this morning, thanks to the canine.
She's also on a slightly reduced food diet, because with no yard she's not been getting as much exercise and has put on a bit of weight. So the last couple of days she has really known when it is dinner time, and been quite clear about the fact that she's STARVING TO DEATH. Poor thing. Tonight I told her that if she stopped smacking me in the face first thing in the morning, I'd consider giving her an extra half scoop of food. She burped dog-food burps at me, which is I think a way of saying, "I'll agree to anything for food."
