After the party

Last night was Bob's post-birthday/pre-Thanksgiving/new-floors party. I was excited for him--and thrilled to have had two walks so that I'd be quiet at home while they went out.

They did not tell me, however, that the party was going to be HOURS long. And I was all alone in a crate with a few toys. I'll show them, I thought. So I tore up my bed.

When they came home, they just removed it and hugged me and told me how much fun they had. Not even a formal apology. Nobody even offered me a taste of tenderloin they served.

Mom had a lesson to learn indeed. So I kept her up all night--pretending to be restless just so she'd know what a bad idea it is for her to leave me for an evening while she's out having fun.

Look, I don't want anyone to suffer. I love my family. But I think I made my point clear: Next time there's a party, I want an invitation. (Or at least something from the buffet.)