My husband Jack and I were invited to my daughter Kelly’s apartment one Friday night for dinner and conversation. And when I say invited for dinner I mean we were invited to look at her take-out menus and decide what my husband would ultimately pick up and pay for.
As I glanced around her eclectic apartment I realized that I had bought her the dinner plates we were going to eat off of as well as the living room couch and coffee table; the black leather love seat was from my set of furniture that we have in our basement and most of the things hanging on her walls were mine at some point. Then I discovered that she still had Season One from my Seinfeld collection and my DVD of the movie “Overboard” that she shrieked she 'had to watch one more time.' But she did give me back my umbrella to take with us when we left since it was raining and where the heck was I going with this? Oh yes, we ate dinner at my daughter’s apartment one Friday night with her chopsticks.
Kelly has a very well behaved little Pekinese/Pomeranian mix named Sookie. She rescued her from certain death at a shelter only days before she was to be euthanized. Sookie, as I have been told, is my “grandchild” which is fine by me.
As we ate and chatted, Sookie laid by the sliding glass doors most of the evening, quietly staring at the outside world. I commented on what a well behaved little girl my grandchild was and complimented my daughter on her training skills. I was informed that Sookie had been subject to some very progressive behavioral modification techniques. They go like this: My daughter yells ‘BUG OFF RETARD’ and the little dog heads over to the door.
No wonder the dog was staring out the sliders. Probably wishing she was back at the shelter.
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