My Man Rescues Me Again

Food in a bag?  Please tell me no.

Treats in a bag.  Please, please, pleeeeeeeaaaaasssseee tell me this is NOT happening again.

Oh nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!  My bed!!!!  Now I   know my people are going somewhere, and so am I.  This can't be good.  I had a bad feeling when my lady brought up her suitcase.  That's never a good sign. 

First we delivered the dog to Michael Jones's house, so I knew he didn't get to go with them this time.  Then they took me to Bernie's.  But, thank goodness, this time they only stayed gone 23 hours and 45 minutes. (Bernie says dogs can't tell time, but we all know I'm not a dog and I certainly can tell time.)   My man  always comes back for me.

After I greeted my man at the door, I had to dash back inside to be sure Bernie was bringing my bed out.  Whew!  There it was.  All was good.  Then . . .

I realized the dog was in the truck.  Oh boy, why couldn't they have picked me up first?  Now he's gonna want to say hello with a snoop and a lick.  Oh, alright, I admit it:  I'm even glad to see that they've remembered to pick him up.  After all, Michael Jones has four!!! other dogs.  I could hear them yap, yap, yapping when we dropped the dog off at their house.  Yuck!  Then, we're getting in the truck:

and sure enough, there he is sticking his pointy snout in my face (and other places that shall remain un-named - gross!).  Then,

I check to make sure all my stuff is still in the truck, and it is. You see, all my man's and my business cards and stuff are kept in the truck.  We take them with us everywhere we go.

And finally, it's time to hit the road and get us back home.  Here we go, and of course, I got to drive.  Because, really, have you ever known of a dog driving?  Of course not.

And at long last, home sweet home.

I hope we're not going any where else any time soon.