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We were invaded

On Monday we had a good day because Mommy couldn’t go to work because her blood sugar was high and she had to go to the doctor, so for most of the day we spent snuggled with her on the couch, until she had to go to the doctor, who told her the rise in blood sugar was due to stress. You know how to cure stress? Sit with two Yorkies in a recliner.

Then Daddy came home, and he was sitting on the couch, and Mommy was telling her about her day, when a door slammed outside, and Pocket went nuts, jumping up and down, barking and crying. Daddy looked over his shoulder and said, “we’re being invaded.”

I jumped on the back of the couch, and there was daughter #2 and granddaughters #3 and #5. Now I love all the grandchildren, I do, but I prefer #1 because we’ve grown up together, and #2, because she’s a sweetheart, and they know how to stroke and pet a puppy.

But #3 and #5, well one of them is fairly new, and one of them is almost brand new, she’s walking new, but new, and they tend to treat Pocket and I like we’re stuffed toys.

But I still have those dog tendencies I can’t control, like that creepy vampire dude who is in love with but still wants to kill the boring Goth chick, and I jumped off the recliner with my tail wagging and my tongue all curled up sniffing, jumping and barking just as bad as Pocket, who, as we have discussed, is unprofessional.

I was jumping, sniffing, crying, wagging, and then I realized I was acting the fool. Pocket meanwhile was caught up in her puppy enthusiasm getting under foot and licking everyone like she was an over caffeinated Adam Lambert. I retreated to Daddy, because, to Granddaughters #3 and #5 Daddy is grandparent #2, and for awhile he would be safe ground.

Pocket did everything she could to get #3 and #5 attention, but after they assaulted Grammy with the high blood sugar, they moved over to the Barbies. I don't have much use for the Barbies, and neither does Pocket really, but she has a secret shoe fetish, and Barbie boots often become Pocket play things, usually found between her teeth, and, when #3 and #5 discovered it, they did not take things well at all, yelling and screaming up a storm.

This scared Pocket off and she joined me on top of Daddy. Of course, with Barbie's unable to properly strut down the runway #3 and #5 found a new play thing, Daddy and his two stuffed Yorkies. But Daddy saved us and allowed us to slip back over to Mommy by doing what he does best, acting like a complete ass and entertaining the small minds of #3 and #5.

Then #5 found Pocket's green ball, and she tried to throw it, but she throws like a Browns quarterback. Pocket, who would chase the green ball into a burning building, took off after the ball, which dropped behind #5, causing her even more confusion. A confused Pocket is a barking Pocket, and then she starts being told to be quiet, and like any politician she hates being told to be quiet, and she argues, and I further sneak behind Mommy in the recliner.

Finally it was time to leave and #3 and #5 gave us kisses. #3 is a pretty good kisser but #5 puts her whole little mouth on us and just drools. It isn't much, but it is love. Then they are all gathered in their car seats and leave and Pocket and I curl up next to one another shaking and reviewing all the horrors we had just seen.

On Thanksgiving Mommy and Daddy are going to Daughter #2 house. Pocket and I can't go because daughter #2 is not much of a dog person. As much as they make me nervous I am going to miss playing with #3 and #5 tomorrow, and most of all #1 who I don't get to see as much as I like.

So Pocket and I will be sleeping most of the afternoon, maybe coming to see some of you in our dreams. You all have a wonderful Thanksgiving, and you humans, if you feel little Yorkie paws at your feet, it's just Pocket and I having popped out of your computer in search of a little turkey.

Have a merry and a bright

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