Rosie Owns the Place!

DogLovers-BlogLovers out there? I'm off. Meet Susan in Boston, then Houston-Bangkok-Miami-Wherever. Rosie, Queen, watches me go. She half raises an eyebrow from her perch on the kitchen couch. She's not "officially" allowed up there, but the minute I leave that's where she goes—we both understand. Our "Queen" is eleven, a Grande Dame. I have the distinct feeling that I'm here at her will. She runs the place, I visit. Her look says, "Off again, eh? Well, you're welcome to stop by when it's over; as you know, I'll be here. Be well, Dude."

Right?