... of the Eccentric Elderly Pup is a curious thing. Nearing his Bark Mitzvah - please don't ask me how his Torah Portion is coming along - Dusty no longer eats out of a doggy bowl. That's too common for him. He prefers to be hand-fed while roaming, aimlessly. It's hard on the back, my back, and the soul, my soul. Was I put on this earth to cater to his needs? Apparently. A hand-feeding may start in the kitchen, but it ends elsewhere, as I follow him, lovingly, down the hall, watch him circle the living room, and try to re-route him back to the kitchen. Here's how I coaxed him this morning, with limited success: "Come here, you. Back here. No, not there. I'm not feeding you on the living room rug. We just had it cleaned. What's up with your GPS? Make a left... Left! That's it... Wait, where are you going? You're dropping it everywhere. Ew, slobber. I'm not cleaning that up, you know." It only took about 20 minutes. But hey, what else have I got to do?
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