My dog loves me.

So, this is our normal weekday morning routine: the evil alarm goes off, I hit snooze several times, then I grudgingly get up, and Rusty and I go downstairs. I know he has to go to the bathroom really badly, he hasn't been out all night, but he refuses to go, he only stares longingly at the cabinet where his food is kept. So I feed him, and he eats as quickly as possible. Only then does he do the tippy-toe-have-to-pee dance, and I let him out and wait for him to do his business.

Then we go back upstairs and Russy gets back in bed with Ryan, I close the door, shower and get ready for work. When I've put on my shoes and start to walk down the stairs, every day without fail now, I hear Ryan get up and open the door so Russ can come downstairs with me. I get my lunch together, put on my coat, and am set to leave. Rusty comes to the door with me, wondering why I am leaving him, or why can't he go, or whatever doggy thoughts he has.

When I get in my car to leave, I look at the door (which is all glass) and see his sad little face sitting there, wondering where I am going, and if I will bring home food, with that little tilt of the head, ears alert, sad eyes a-working.

I feel terrible when I look at his pretty face, but it is good for him. Plus, Ryan works from home so he is entertained all day long, so I assume he quickly forgets about me. However, I may be wrong. Ryan just sent me a picture of the dog in his daytime habitat:



He is snoozing on the couch, tangled in one of my white tank tops. He actually has it wrapped around his front legs. Little stinker. I love that guy.