Wednesday, February 11, 2009


Sailor here.

I have a job. A real job. A job with a title. And it’s not RAE or CD or AJP. I have those titles too.

I am the Janitorial Service! So is Jib. Three times a day Mom calls us from the back porch. “Janitorial Service, front and center!”

And we come running. She lets us inside and we sweep under the dining room table and the kitchen floor. We sweep with our tongues. We mop with them, too.

Things I have learned:
I love chicken bites. The bigger the better.
Jib loves chicken bites, too.
I do not love carrots. I don’t even like them.
Jib loves carrots. What a funny collie.
Blueberries are OK.
Toast crumbs are great, especially large ones.
Jib and I love French fries and strangled eggs, too.

Mom says that our services will not be needed after today because the GrandGirls are going home to Maine. They are taking their chicken bites, French fries, and parents with them.

I will be sad.

Maybe Mom knows some other human puppies she can invite over for dinner tonight.

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