Thursday in the Park with Charlie

When I first got Charlie, I tried the Caesar Milan approach. Charlie never bought it. Instead, we have now settled into a comfortably neurotic relationship where I kiss my little cuddle-bunny's feet and Charlie luxuriates in the attention like a small tan and chocolate deity. It's just not that easy to take a deity for a walk. Like most princelings, Charlie prefers to be carried. He periodically stops, stubborn as a small mule and refuses to move on. The expression in his eyes is always one of outraged disgust, at being forced to walk along a dusty, dirty path in the park. Even his attempts to chase the squirrels are half-hearted, as if he knows a mere mortal is treating him like a dog, instead of the royalty he actually is. If only I could find a dog park where they have a red carpet. Sometimes I sense Charlie watching me as I drive, his eyes half-closed, no, not watching me. Contemplating me, in a quiet but slightly puzzled way. As if he wishes that he could share just one word of the wisdom he has in one wag of his little tail.