I found this somewhere on Usenet and saved it. Unfortunately, I
didn't save the source, but I'll try to track it down. Anyway, I
thought people here would enjoy it.

Feb 21:
The truck is gone and most of the items from the old cave have been moved
to the new one. Bill keeps fussing over me. He seems to think I will have
trouble adapting to a cave with a yard, trees, grass and our very own
squirrels. AS IF. This morning, on the deck, he kept saying,over and over
again: "We live HERE, now. Do you understand? We used to live
THERE. But now we live HERE. This is our HOME, now. HERE." Yeah, yeah.
HERE. I get it, already.

Feb 22:
After opening another can of goo for me, Bill made himself a thick, juicy
rib steak. We've been together since October, and he's still treating me
like a dog. He did, however, offer the bone to me when he was finished. I
chewed it for a while and then buried it in the dirt by the shed. Bill
stood up, with this rather incredulous look on his face, and it suddenly
occurred to me that he'd never seen me bury anything before. He asked if
I learned how to do this from watching cartoons. I think he was serious.

Feb 23:
I have to say that I really LOVE this yard. The only drawback is that
there are fences on all four sides. But, as that cute Chihuahua in East
Rutherford used to say, "No problema." I've begun preliminary excavation
work at four different locations. Bill has noticed three of them, but the
fourth one is hidden behind a poster of Rita Hayworth. I may not have
learned much from watching cartoons, but "The Shawshank Redemption" was a
revelation.

Feb 24:
Every time I bark in the yard, Bill has a fit, and makes me come back
into the cave. What is his problem? Today he actually said, "If you want
to bark all day, get a job, and buy your OWN house." Well, excuuuse me. I
guess no one's told him that barking IS my job. God knows I never hear
HIM bark. People walk by all day and night and he never makes a sound. He
just paints, empties boxes, and rearranges rugs, knickknacks, and
furniture I've never seen before. Sometimes I don't know what to pee on
first. As for the barking, maybe I'll just stop altogether. In fact, if
someone breaks in, maybe I'll jump on his lap, lick his face, and help
him dismantle the stereo.

Feb 25:
After napping on the couch for three hours, Bill got up at 1 a.m. and
started painting the hallway. I HATE that smell. As soon as I saw him
spreading newspapers on the floor, I went up to bed. I came back
downstairs to check things out an hour or so later, and he was still
painting away like a lunatic. When he saw me, he said, "Hi, Jasp," like
it was the middle of the afternoon. I walked across the newspaper, into
the living room, and onto the couch. Then I heard this blood-curdling
scream. Apparently, I tracked paint all over his stupid Pakistani rug.
"Do you know how much I paid for this rug?" he screamed, spritzing club
soda all over the place. Well, at least I got him to bark. Incidentally,
if you've never had club soda on your paws, it's the wildest sensation. I
can't wait until he paints the porch.

Feb 26:
We were out on the deck again, and this big fat bug waddled by, so I ate
it. Bill ran over and pried my mouth open. Too late! But he was really
freaking out. He even ran inside and called the vet. (Ha! He should only
KNOW what I've eaten since we moved here.) He came back out a few minutes
later and started waving his finger at me. "Don't you ever do that
again," he said. "Eating bugs is a sign of mental illness." I didn't know
what to say, so I nodded, and played with my squeak toy.

Feb 27:
Gary came over and we all sat on the deck. Bill went inside to answer the
phone, and as soon as he did, Gary took four bugs out of his pocket, and
we each ate two. Gary is so cool. He said, "Whatever you do, don't tell
Billy." My lips are sealed.

Feb 28:
Bill was fine all day, but he really came down on me after dinner about
my toys. Ever since the move he's turning into like this TOTAL rule
freak. Outdoor toys stay outside. Inside toys stay inside. No squeak toys
after 9 p.m. Yada, yada, yada. Then he went on this total RAMPAGE,
picking all my toys up off the floor, tossing them back into the box, and
saying, "Can't you put these things away when you're done with them?" I
don't mind sitting, rolling over, and shaking hands, but I draw the line
at putting away toys. If he wanted a monkey, why the heck didn't he buy
one?

Feb 29:
I finally figured out that I can get into the yard by myself. And it's so
easy! All you have to do is push the screen door open with your nose. A
puppy could do it. Anyway, when Bill saw me outside he said, "I thought I
brought you in," and then let me back into the kitchen. Naturally, I
pushed to door open again with my nose and returned to the yard, just to
show him how clever I am. Well, this is never a good idea, especially
when you're living with the control freak of the century. Within 15
minutes he screwed a hook onto the screen, and gave me this whole lecture
about who's in charge around here. I can't even imagine what he's going
to do when he finds out that I can use the microwave.

March 1:
Well, I guess it had to happen sooner or later. I saw a squirrel on the
fence. And, when he ran into the next yard, I made a beeline for my
secret escape route. I wound up in the next yard somewhere, and then I
couldn't find my way back, so I went through some hedges, and wound up on
the sidewalk. It was totally disorienting. I finally found my way back to
the house, but I couldn't get back into the yard because of the fence.
How's that for ironic? So, I climbed the front steps and waited by the
door. About 10 minutes later, Bill came out to get the mail, saw me, and
yelled, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE?" He then took me back into the
yard, and started blocking up all of the openings in the fence -- even
the ones I CAN'T fit through-- with rocks, lumber, whatever he could
find. Is this fair? "I'm doing this because I love you," he said, "and I
don't want anything to happen to you. Do you understand?" I didn't, at
first, but then, the more I thought about it, the more I figured he meant
it. And I was kind of touched by the whole thing, to tell you the truth.
So, when we went back inside I licked his forehead and made him some
popcorn in the microwave. "WHAT IS THIS?" he yelled.
There is just no pleasing the man.

Mary

--
Mary Shafer Retired aerospace research engineer