This morning my monkey-person escorted me on a long, lovely walk through the snowy streets of Highland Park. We even lingered on the grounds of the King Mansion. I sniffed and tracked another dog's trail for awhile. I pooped on the edge of the woods.
Feeling so good after such a nice walk, I decided to unwind by trying to kill my monkey-person for a few minutes. I struck fierce poses. I lunged at his neck. I spun around, ran to the other side of the apartment, frantically dug into some carpeting, charged back across the room and pounced on his weary head, many times. With a tooth, I added a small puncture wound that will, in a few days, become a new scar on this hand.
This went on for awhile, until he stopped moving. Then I got bored. I nipped his ear one last time, turned around, heaved my girth up onto the couch, and settled in for my mid-morning nap. Hallie
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Miss Hallie,
Can't we all just get along? Don't you know that your owner is growing older and wearier by the minute? Cut the monkey person a break...at least until the spring warmth puts you both on equal footing.
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