|If you use a high-powered magnifying glass, you'll see the letter writer on the porch.|
Maybe I'm a little hypersensitive this time of year. I know my face is a little puffier than normal, crammed with nuts and grass and other stuff for my nest. And, sure, there's always room improvement in personal hygiene department, but when you're foraging 24/7 the nails do take a beating. Not to mention scaling 100-foot Ponderosa pines. I'll schedule a spa day when the first snow flies, so cry me a river.
And I AM a little more frazzled than normal. Do you know how hard it is to remember all the places where I, for lack of a better word, squirreled away my provisions throughout the summer? I could have sworn there were at least a half dozen peanuts in this yard, but instead all I found was a worthless scrap of sock monkey hat. Ugh.
So there I was, minding my own business, low on self-esteem, high on anxiety and picking sock monkey hat threads out of my nose (and you how hard that is), when you come along with that gray dog of yours.
You know exactly what happened next. He froze and activated The Herding Dog Stare on me -- I don't even think he blinked! (I hope you have eye drops for that, btw.) It went on for an EE-TERNN-ITY. At least three minutes. I could've climbed in a hole and died from embarrassment. Instead I bolted and he chased me.
And all you did was giggle and take a picture on your dumb cell phone. I guess it's pretty clear from whom he gets his manners. Just sayin'.
Lady walking the gray dog with the most horrible manners in the world, that creature of yours is in serious need of lessons in public deportment. Beginning with staring at strangers.
Licking his rocket in public is a close second. That is seriously sick.
I fully expect to find this issue resolved when I emerge from hibernation next spring. No if's, and's or
Very sincerely yours,
I.M. Squirrel, Esquire
|OK. Perhaps he has wee bit of a staring problem.|