Sigh-dy ho, its your neglected and abandoned stationary Border Collie, Bet, here.
She probably didn't tell any of you... she actually didn't even tell me until she was packing. The Musher has gone to that land mass down south to visit with Helen Who Smells Like Cookies. Yes, MY Helen Handler (who smells like cookies). I wasn't invited... something about customs and strip searches or something.
So, here I am again. Alone. All Alone with nobody to massage my crampy toes. She didn't even have the courtesy of calling Richard back from across the pond to care for me. Just me and NASCAR Angry Birds guy.
hmmm, what's that on the shelf... I wonder if its edible.
Anyway, maybe if I stay on the chair and sleep until she comes back she'll feel sorry and never leave me again. I mean come on... who is going to report back all of her wonderful tales of Maine, where they make... hair for horses or something about lobsters (whatever those are).
I hope she appreciates that I dumped out all of her shorts and tank tops and packed her parka and boots. I hear its cold in Maine.