On Sunday, Frankie gets to go everywhere with me. Then Monday comes and I drudge off to my day job.
She naps. She barks at every sound and dreams of technicolored squirrels. I have no clue what Frankie would do with a squirrel if she was able to catch one but even my pug has delusions of grandeur.
I return home tired. Frankie has been napping all day and is eager to play. She assures me that getting to watch me write is not playing.
My dream is to create a successful fantasy series. Hers involves frolicking with rainbow squirrels. By bedtime Monday is everyday to Frankie and Sundays are long forgotten. Time means nothing to a pug.