5:30.00 a.m., I was awake, thanks to Hoocher’s telepathic stare. No telling how long he was standing next to the bed, but I could feel the mental vibrations. He left, when I opened my eyes.
5:31.00, walked into the living room to find Hoocher sleeping on a chair. He didn’t need to go outside; just wanted to wake me up.
5:35.00, Hoocher went on a walk, like it or not.
5:35.03, he gave a three-legged salute to the neighbor’s hostas closest to our house.
5:35.05, saluted the neigbor’s tree.
5:35.25, walked across the street.
5:36.00-5:50.00, saluted every ^$#$#% tree, flower or street sign in a walk around the block which provided me with an object lesson in patience. That pooch would require drop tanks to carry any more liquid. You’d think a country dog would be used to various animal smells, so he didn’t have to check out every blankety-blank city smell and add his own calling card.
5:51.00 to the end of the day. Resting, from one chair to another.
Hoocher skipped breakfast and supper today, existing primarily on a few Alpo treats and human-food snacks.
Report from the Outpost, where Bupa took The Senator fishing, and the lad caught eight croppies. “Was he excited?” “I thought I was going to have to duct-tape him to the dock,” Bupa reported.