Timeout

The newlyweds brought Supergirl for a visit today. I locked Murphy in his crate as a preemptive measure, because he's awful. Supergirl came in, observed him in his crate, and pronounced, "In Timeout." Yep, you got it sister. She's not even 20 months yet but has figured out that crazy little dogs need to go to timeout.

Her other grandma taught her to say, "I'm FABulous!" - I love it, and she IS. Her vocabulary just slays me, and I raised her father. He was this kind of precocious too, but her twist on it amuses me no end. She climbed on a small plastic tub with my current baby knitting projects in it and announced, "I'm TALL!" She put something in the trash for me and played with the trash can lid: "Open!" "Closed!" "CLOSE LID!" with a slam. Verbally and cognitively she's at least 2.5 to 3 years old at 19 months and it's freaking everybody out a bit, in a very good way. She had a great time playing with Sophie, while Murphy alternately sulked and shrieked from timeout. They played chase and hide and seek, and Sophie shot around like a crazy happy bullet.

When Supergirl asked me to let Murphy out I warned her that he would jump and kiss, and she nodded and was braced for it. He did jump and kiss and she took it well, but he was a humble dog who knew why he had been in timeout, and threw himself down before her for tummy rubs. She was smart enough to know that he was just angling to leap up and kiss her face again, and gave him a few quick tummy rubs before leaping to safety. His breath is really awful- I fear more teeth are failing. After the dental surgery last winter his breath was puppy fresh, and now it's like rotting fish. Between the fish breath and the farts from the other end, he's a joy to live with. Stinky Little Dog.

Boxes are waiting to be loaded. Washer and dryer were sold and picked up this evening. This weekend is going to suck mightily. Tuesday, the moving van will be here. I need to get stuff done bigtime. Right now, I think I'll go to sleep early.