A couple nights ago, our eldest daughter, Wren took Pinky the Sheriff home with her for a sleep-over. It didn’t progress well from the word “go.” Unfortunately, as excited as Pink was when I clipped her collar & leash on, she plummeted to equal depths of despair when she saw me hand the lead to Wren. Apparently she thought I was giving her over to the Hand of Death, or Something Worse. We had to cajole her out the door & into the car. Wren said she was utterly dejected the entire ride home. What was meant to be a fun evening was not starting well at all…
By Justin’s account, Pinky gave in to her overwhelming curiosity & good humor & enjoyed exploring their house & playing tug. She even relaxed enough to squeeze a few farts off while hanging out on the sofa with Justin. She napped & snored like a typical Boston chainsaw.
However; when bedtime rolled around, Wren said that Pinky’s spirits hit the cellar; she realized that here lay the Something Worse she had feared: Pink was not allowed to sleep in the bed (GASP!). Even worse, she wasn’t even allowed in the bedroom AT ALL (EGADS!!). Poor Pinky was horrified. No matter she had a thick, soft bed of blankies right outside the bedroom door. That’s just not good enough for a self-respecting Sheriff Boston of Pinky’s advanced years & Alpha status! I tremble to imagine her state of mind as the black night wore on toward bleak morning. My Best Girl had plenty of time to plot.
Pinky feigned pleasure when Wren & Justin arose. She turned her bottomless “Puss In Boots Eyes” on them innocently & greeted them as if she’d waited with bated breath allllll night long for them. Her perfidy was discovered by Justin, who stepped into the bathroom to shave. I bet he was speechless for a moment or two, at least, before yelling through the house, “WREN!!! She POOPED in the TUB!!!”
…There’s always Something Worse – or at least surprisingly creative – when you are owned by Bostons.