Good Boy

This morning, the eldest appeared, as he often does, for breakfast.  In a few weeks, he plans to move over the hill, which means these cherished early visits will end.  Am I sad?  Distraught?  Weepy-kins?  Please. Have you met me? I'm keeping it together.  So together, that when he stepped into the kitchen, I handed him a nice doggy treat and patted him on the head. "Thanks, Ma, but I think I'd rather have a bagel." "Good boy," I said, and offered the treat to Dusty, instead.  As I sliced an onion bagel and popped it in the toaster oven, I stated my case, calmly. "Don't go!  Stay!  Stay in Sherman Oaks, where you belong, where you have people who love you, people who do your laundry and feed you, daily, without charging you a dime."  "Sherman Oaks is for old people," he said, and took out the cream cheese.