This morning I woke up, fed and pottied the fur kids. Then we had baths, grooming, hair and teeth brushing and bow fixing. After that, the girls were tired, and went down for their morning naps. I, however, went to to the kitchen to begin cooking. I boiled and deboned chicken, peeled and made mashed potatoes, baked sweet potatoes, and cooked fresh carrots. I made purée for Lucy, since she has no teeth, then divided and froze individual meal portions for each girl. It's now noon, and I'm finally sitting down for a minute. I just looked down at my plate and realized I'm eating a piece of not-so-fresh white bread with some peanut butter smeared on it. I've still got the mixer to put away, and pots and dishes to wash. When did this happen? It appears I now work for, and am completely owned by my dogs. This is how those rumors start. You know, the ones about the crazy old dog woman? Heaven help me! Here's the scariest part. Big, burly, 300 lb., construction worker, hubby came home for a quick lunch, and I can hear him down stairs singing, rocking and talking baby talk to the girls. Wouldn't the guys on the job love to see that? Wow, see what we've been reduced to, since Yorkies came into our life?
