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King Boxnoggin Abed

I was brushing my teeth and had taken the decorative pillows off the bed–they were left over from the reign of King Trundles, who needed to be propped up so he could breathe and also so he wouldn’t smear schmutz on my personal pillows. I heard my daughter pass the bedroom door, then she began to laugh.

I looked out of the loo and was greeted by the sight of a very tired Sir Boxnoggin, gazing at me like “…whut? It’s bedtime.”

I looked at the Princess, and so did he, with the same air of patent weary astonishment he’d deployed in my direction, and that did it. Both humans cracked up, laughing like loons.

Boxnoggin, of course, had no idea why we were amused. I managed to snap a picture of him looking at my daughter in the door with that regal, puzzled expression.

“Is he… is he making a move to rise in the hierarchy?” the Princess asked, when we could both breathe again.

“Maybe?” I hazarded. “But it won’t do him any good. I’m still the alpha bitch.”

That broke us up again for a good two minutes or so. If sadness and stress takes years off your life, the sheer hilarity of our canine overlords must add them.

I hope your weekend is calm and refreshing, chickadees. The world is nuts, but at least we have dogs.