This blog, it's….it's my note….

That's what people do, don't they?  They leave a note.

(some people won't get that and that's just sad)

So when I take Abbey outside, I don't always have her on a leash because she comes when I call her.  And she knows not to go in the street.  She walks down the street and stays on the sidewalk, like god intended.  She's been off leash in the front yard, walking around the neighborhood and at the beach.  When we're driving somewhere, I let her in the garage, off leash, and she sniffs around and then jumps in the car.  Unless she doesn't want to go, then she goes back inside and jumps on Tom's bed.

The first time I tried that with Alice, she sniffed around the garage, sniffed around the driveway, sniffed around the side yard, and then we played this fantastic game called "chase me around the yard, yelling at me."  The second time, she dashed out between my legs and ran into the street.  Scared the hell out of us.

Well, Free-Reign privileges have been unequivocally revoked.  Back in the box, little cow.  Now when  Alice and I leave the house via car,  I keep the garage door closed and open the car door.  Alice sniffs around the garage, sniffs around the car, sniffs around the old paint cans that I'm getting rid of with cat litter.  (Alice, No.  Stay away from that.)  Finally she'll sniff around the open car door.  And she does that leaning-back thing that pole vaulters do before they jump, like she's checking out the angles.  Then she sniffs around a bit more and goes under the car.  Checking the trans axle fluid or something.  "ALICE!"  Finally I pick her up and toss her in the car.  And as I explain to her the need and ease of jumping in a car, I put on my seat belt and start the car.  And I remind her that she's a good girl and Abbey jumps in the car so she can jump in the car too.  She just needs to try.  And aren't car rides fun, good girl?  And, oh shit, the garage door is still closed!!!!!  I shudder to think how many brain cells I've killed this way.

So when you read about the lady who killed herself, and her little white dog, in her garage, you can assure the world that "No, she wasn't suicidal.  Just moronic."  How's that for my epitaph?

"Here Lies Jennifer Moore, the Dumbshit"

It beats this:

That's just mean.