Sunday is a day of REST!

That's the excuse I'm giving for not writing to you, Dear Diary. That...and it's NOT MY FAULT. Mom got up early and went out to breakfast with a friend. Then she came home, got me, and we went to the office. Work, work, and more work. I was there for about an hour when I started feeling a bit uncomfy. It was time to do the "big out", if you catch my drift. I whimpered, I pawed, I squealed. Finally I used my secret weapon ...ta daaaa...."The Gas Attack". One hit and she was scrambling to find my leash. I tell YOUUUUUU...we have our own little arsenal of resources, don't we?

Anyway, that business being taken care of, we went back to the office and didn't leave until it was almost dark. What a way to spend the weekend.

Last night got a bit nippy so I snuggled under the lip of the comforter for most the night. Then I think maybe Mom got cold so she put me under the covers next to her like a hot water bottle. Indeed. I do think the good Lord had something better in mind for me when he created me, but I was still sleepy so I complied. Besides, it wasn't too long before it became "out" time again. I went straight to my "gun cabinet" and let loose with a really stinky bomb.

WHAT'S ALL THE WHITE STUFF? And why is the grass crunching under my feet? This is kinda cool, actually. I'm having fun here. I do NOT want to go back in. Mom is trying to reason with me, saying that it's maybe 38 degrees outside and really she'd like to close the slider. But her teeth were chattering while she said it so I pretended not to hear. I'm BAAAAAAD that way (hee hee).

Oh okay....after a bit it starts to get you. How those sled dogs in "Eight Below" can survive even a day, let alone six months, is beyond me.

That's it for yesterday and this morning, dear Diary of mine. It's time to go to work again. Does it never end?

Love,

Mary-Margaret