Taking a break from work, I go downstairs and heat up a bowl of leftovers, saving the nice meaty bits for Emily. Emily, whom I'd left licking her foot in my room, makes a noise upstairs, but I don't see her, so there I am at the kitchen table, eating, reading, yadda.
On my way back up, I discover this:
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| Whatcha doing? |
Behold, the Second Step, where, wondering what yummy thing is going on downstairs, Emily had decided to investigate and dragged herself off the bed, but only makes it down ONE STEP. Then she whines. And then, I think, she falls asleep.
If I don't hear her, or come out into the hallway to see what's up, THIS will happen:
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| In which, tired of her great exertion, Emily will flop over. And just drape there. |
I think she's forgotten what got her up in the first place. They say dogs are a portrait of our own selves. Oh yeah.
