It's a frosty morning, here in West Virginia. Lucy, my beloved Boxer daughter, does not harbor any positive feelings for such weather.
After coming back inside from her morning job (i.e., walking Kiddo to the bus and going potty) she came inside, trotted to the closed bedroom door, and looked at me expectantly. Her warm bed awaited. "Sorry, Lucy,", I said. "Daddy works late, and I'm not letting you in there to wake him up." Lucy huffed at me and moped her way back into the living room. Yes, huffed. She's prone to bouts of sass when things don't go her way.
By this point I had returned to my sofa, knitting commission in hand and hot coffee beside me. Not a full minute later I hear a pitifully long sigh from Lucy. I look up to find her staring from the fireplace to me, repeatedly. Shaking my head and laughing, because there was nothing left to do at this point, I dragged myself back up and built her a fire. You can see from the picture that she's content now. As for me? I'm back to work, loving these moments with my spoiled girl and locking them away in my heart for the day when she crosses the Rainbow Bridge.