Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
Mabel doesn’t sit at my feet (unless we are out of the house of course, and my feet are the only thing to hide behind).
But inside the house—I don’t think so. Being a teeny-tiny dog, Mabel learned very early on that it was in her own best interests to avoid anyone else’s feet but her own. (It should be written in the doggie handbook—two-legged giants stomping around on big clumsy feet rarely bother to look down.)
Besides, why on earth would she sit on a cold, hard floor when she could be sleeping between the pillows on mum’s bed, or snuggled between her two sisters in a blanket on the couch, or, better still, on mum’s lap. I mean, really . . .