Of Dead Dogs and Moved Furniture

Today was tamely horrible. I got to go to work with my friend, which was really fun.

At noon I came home, ready to take Graham Cracker on several errands while the movers came here. Mary had assured us she wouldn't notice something small like her grand piano in the middle of our previously empty living room. We went along with it, but once Shem saw the elephant in the room, we changed our minds. Not being a very good liar, I told Mom we need to talk to her. I was trying to prevent her from going into the house. She became very serious. Did my house catch fire? Did my dog die? Is Mark painting my house? Bingo. On every account. Those were all the lies we had decided to play with!

When she asked if her dog died, I responded, "yes." She got so upset! She cried about that for a good two hours. Somehow Shem was able to squeeze in, "Surprise! Mark's painting your house! Isn't this FUN!!!!" She eats right out of his hand. "Yes! It's fun!" "Did he bury my dog in the back yard?" "What fun!"

She returned to the crying part off and on throughout the night. Mark, you buried Oscar in the back yard, in case you're wondering. At one point she teared up, sighing, "What's the name of my dog that died?"