DENVER -- June 25, 2009

Yesterday morning I heard John ask Marianne about her schedule for the day. When I heard the words "tile store" I raced across the room and flung myself into John's lap.

"PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE take me to work with you today," I begged. "Please?"

John unwound my paws from around his neck. "Ross, DON'T!" he said sternly as I slid to the floor. "What on earth was that all about?"

"I can't take another day of home improvement stores," I babbled. "I can't, I just can't handle it. Please let me go to work with you!"

John sighed. "Ross, I can't take you today because I'm riding my bike to work and ..."

"That's no problem!" I interrupted. "I can sit in your lap or run along beside you or ride in your backpack! Really, it will be fine!"

John shook his head. "No, those aren't safe options. I'm sorry Ross, but you'll have to hang out with Marianne today."

With that he patted my head, put on his helmet and left the house. Traitor! He dislikes shopping as much as I do.

I stalked away in disgust.

"Oh come on, Ross," Marianne cajoled. "It won't be so bad. You'll get petted and everyone will make a big fuss over you, just like they always do. Let's go."

I sighed and crawled out from under the bed. Marianne held out my cape. "Dress!" she commanded as she slipped it over my head. I waited obediently while she fastened it and my Gentle Leader, but I put on my saddest face and trudged wearily to the car to emphasize how unhappy I was.

"Why are we doing all this shopping anyhow?" I whined as we pulled out of the driveway. "I'm getting really tired of looking at tile and counters and cabinets and paint chips."

"Yeah? You and me both," Marianne said. "All you have to do is tag along and listen to people tell you how cute you are. I'm the one who has to look at 8000 samples and make the actual choices. What if I pick something that doesn't look as good installed as I think it will? What if the colors don't look good together after all? What if I picked the wrong style of cabinets? What if the counters are too dark?"

I yawned and dozed off as she continued to fret. Eventually the car stopped, we got out and I found myself in yet another shop full of (surprise!) tile. I collapsed in a heap in the corner and exhaled loudly.

"Is he OK?" the saleslady asked in a worried tone of voice.

Marianne laughed. "Yes, he's fine; he just doesn't like shopping very much."

"Aw, poor baby," the saleslady cooed as she bent over me. I wagged my tail. "May I pet him?" she asked.

"Yes, as long as he sits," said Marianne as she sorted through tile samples. "Ross, mind your manners!"

An hour (and several belly rubs) later we left with a stack of samples. "I don't get it," I said as I jumped into the hot car. "Those tiles look the same as the tiles you looked at in the six other stores last week."

"Oh no, these are very different. Different colors, different styles, different patterns," said Marianne as she cranked up the air conditioning. "I think these will do nicely! I hope so, anyhow."

"Good!" I exclaimed. "We're done! Hurray! Let's go home."

"Um...no, sorry old pal. We are going to look at a lighting store next." Marianne caught my eye in the rear view mirror. "We'll stop and get some ice water first, OK?"

"FINE," I snapped. "WHATEVER." I pawed off my Gentle Leader and tried to find the coolest part of the floor. "I can't believe you're torturing me this way. I'll bet no other CCI puppies are expected to put up with this sort of thing."

Marianne groaned. "Oh good grief. Listen, when this is all done you're going to love the remodeled house. And knowing you as I do, I bet you'll brag to everyone that you picked out the tile, counters, cabinets and paint colors!"

Huh. She thinks she's so smart.

Chow for now!

Ross

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