When You're Smilin'

Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.

Dr. Seuss

Some people said I always looked sad. Folks, that's just what a Weimaraner's face looks like! But those who knew me could always tell when I was smiling. And lots of things made me smile. Chasing just about any critter that dared think it could out run me. Taking long walks. Having Todd rub any part of my body, especially my belly (maybe not my ears really, but I tolerated that because he liked it so much). Cuddling under the fleece blanket that Tanya made for me, especially when it was warm and fresh from the dryer. Barking my head off at anybody I took a mind to, especially if I could race around the corner of the yard and surprise the pee outta them! Laying on my giant puppy pillow. Sneaking into Todd and Tanya’s bed. Letting strangers pet me, call me beautiful, and give me numerous well-deserved compliments. Riding in the truck with my nose out the window. Spitting out my pills so that I could have them covered in peanut butter. Happy hour, Saturday morning donuts, and dog biscuits from my friend Mike at the marina. Surprising people by my skill at opening doors. Fooling everyone into thinking I was just a puppy even at the ripe old age of 12 years, 8 months (to the day). And of course, eating absolutely anything I could get my paws on (see all my prior posts) except for bananas – nasty things those bananas. 

But even better than my own smiles? Making others smile.

I was really awesome at that.

Grayson “Gracie” Lipinski Cass
August 10, 2004 – April 10, 2017
Forever Would Not Have Been Long Enough

Aren't I SPECtacular?!

And some say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Au contraire. I am living proof that a truly spectacular canine (me) can learn anything at any age. After a lifetime of rule on dry land, I have now become a Salty Dog, Captain of My Own Destiny, First Mate Extraordinaire, and Most Popular Marina Mascot.

To be expected of course, I have adjusted beautifully to my new career as boat dog. I quickly mastered walking the gangplank, and while the companionway steps were a little more challenging, I convinced Todd to add some nonslip treads and now I can navigate from cockpit to salon with barely a slip and slide. And seasickness? HA – me of the iron stomach? Ain’t never gonna be a problem!

Some of my favorite things about my new home? Well for starters, when you live on a boat you quickly get to know all of your neighbors, who can’t resist stopping to pet me, compliment my adorableness, and generally provide me with well-deserved spoiledness. Why just this morning Mike at the shipstore gave me a huge dog biscuit, I got to enjoy a complimentary Saturday morning donut, a sailor across the way asked to take my picture, and the lovely lady on the boat next door brought me a doggie treat specially purchased from Three Dog Bakery just for me. And all before lunchtime! I can’t wait to see what the afternoon brings. It is so gratifying when humans easily recognize and reward my specialness - makes a gal humble (well, not really, but I try).

I also love going to the Marina restaurant’s outdoor bar for happy hour and sunset watching. The bartender provides me an unending supply of ice in my water bowl, everyone stops to admire me, and as a member of the restaurant’s email list I get free coupons for the Cabo Bites fish appetizer, which is simply delish.

Honestly, the only thing I haven’t quite mastered is the peeing and pooping thing on AstroTurf. Todd bought some, I sniffed, laid down on it, then got up and watched it promptly blow right off the deck (of course, I was falsely accused of giving it a slight nudge). Anyway, I overheard Todd telling Tanya that he has an entire roll packed away in the storage unit, so I suppose this is a skill I am going to have to attain at some point unless I want to bust a bladder.

Now, if I could just convince Tanya to let me assume the role of Galley Wench, with its accompanying access to all things edible, I would consider my transition successfully complete.

My future is definitely so bright I gotta wear shades!

Cass Christmas Chronicles 2016: A Dog’s Tails

After a hiatus of several years, I have volunteered to once again author the Cass family Christmas letter. This is a welcomed chance for me to reclaim the keyboard since, as my five loyal readers know, I had to temporarily give up writing this blog in order to help Tanya and Todd get our house ready for market and sell practically everything we owned (including a slightly used dog pillow and a box of stale Milkbones) so that we can downsize, buy a sailboat, and hit the high seas. Having never moved my paws off dry land I’m not totally sure what the high seas are, but I overheard Todd talking about the need for me to pee and poop on a piece of AstroTurf or some such thing. I’m thinking this does not sound good…

But, as I’ve frequently proven, I am a team player. So, I’ve spent this past year generously supporting Todd and Tanya’s life dream.  A few of the many examples of my largess:

•       I have become an excellent road navigator, having successfully co-piloted Todd through several trips between Indiana and Florida. I am however, still working on convincing Tanya to give up her position at shotgun – she seems not to understand that my backseat driving would be much more effective from the front.
•       I guaranteed Todd’s successful transition to working from home by gluing myself to his side at the computer and allowing him breaks only when my nature calls. His colleagues at Gibraltar Design have hardly noticed my occasional presence on conference calls.
•     I have calmly adjusted to having my large Invisible-Fenced yard replaced by a 5 foot leash, along with stupid commands like “stay”, “heel”, and “leave it”. I draw the line however at “come” – if Todd and Tanya are foolish enough to leave me to my own devices (i.e. drop the leash or crack a door too wide) well, too bad for them. I’ll return when I damn well please (or dinnertime, whichever comes first).
•     I charmed my way into the hearts and homes of family members and close friends who graciously offered us short-term housing only to perhaps later regret that the definition of “short-term” had failed to be adequately agreed upon. We will forever be indebted to the Bullis and Cass/Tobey households.
•       I spent several days babysitting my Vizsla nephew, Westin, so that Todd and Tanya could help Jake and Brynlee put together dressers and cribs, shiplap walls, and hang baby clothes in preparation for the impending arrival of twins – a boy and a girl. I realize that I should have more sympathy for the adjustments poor Westin will soon have to make, but the fact that he is currently being forced to listen to CD renditions of babies crying is just too hilarious.
•     I’ve offered advice and encouragement to both Howie, who just received a promotion at Redfin, and Kara, who took on a new job with Ryan Fireprotection. While I tried to be enthusiastic in my congratulations, personally, I feel for anyone who actually has to work for a living.
•       I’ve expanded my vocabulary with phrases like “market analysis”, “loan broker”, “bank statements” and “underwriting”. I have no idea what these things mean except that their use in loud conversation usually required something Tanya and Todd call “medicinal cocktails”.

So yes, I’ve certainly fulfilled my role as therapy dog in the past year. But the psychic that Tanya met in her water aerobics class has assured her that we’ll soon be settled in safe harbors. Perhaps before I even mail this letter….

Merry Christmas and Ahoy Mates,                                                     

Tanya, Todd, and Gracie

Forget the Candles, I Just Want Cake!

Happy Birthday to me.

Happy Birthday to me.

I am still more gorgeous, intelligent, funny, cute, and just plain adorable

Than any younger dog can hope to be. 

Today is my 12^th birthday. (For the arithmetically-challenged, that makes me 84 in human years.) Having served most of that time as a role model for other less gorgeous, intelligent, funny, cute, and adorable dogs, I thought I would use this momentous occasion to review a few of my many accomplishments of the past year, thus providing encouragement to the other canines (and frankly, humans) who may need motivation to achieve their own personal greatness. I have amassed a huge repertoire of feats in 2016. But humbleness is, of course, one of my plethora of fine traits. And so I will limit myself to a short list of highlights.

• I have scientifically verified (once again) that eating an entire loaf of whole grain bread significantly multiplies the bowel benefits of a high fiber diet.
• Even though I very clearly told Tanya and Todd that I do not intend to ever park my butt in that contraption they call a “crate”, I was forced to destroy the damn thing in order to successfully get my point across.
• I proved that an exceptional dog can eat a Ziploc sandwich bag of Hershey miniatures with little side effect other than pooping tin foil for three days. (Caution: I am a trained professional – DO NOT let your dog try this at home.)
• While Tanya and Todd seem to think that I have developed a touch of arthritis - au contraire. I am simply graciously giving tree-climbing squirrels a reprieve from my former high-jumping pursuit (geese however better run for their measly little lives).
• I have demonstrated numerous times that my mild case of cataracts can be easily overcome by my keen sense of smell. And so I remain the champ at fettering out any possible food left within my reach (see above).
• And most impressively, I continue to prove that you CAN teach an old dog new tricks – I graduated with honors from two weeks of intensive doggie boot camp! My trainer recognized my innate intelligence very quickly, but he reported to Tanya and Todd that I am stubborn. Duh, did he think they didn’t know that? Personally, I find it a source of honor. But the trainer’s most hilarious observation? He insisted that I am way too motivated by food.

I fail to see the problem.

Bring on that cake!

That Wascally Wabbit!

Here comes Peter Cottontail, hoppin’ down the bunny trail, hippity, hoppity…

Oh forget this Bunny Foo-Foo crap! I can’t pretend any longer. The ASPCA will probably yank my membership, but confess I must. I KILLED a rabbit. There. I’ve said it. Hate me if you will. But I just couldn’t help myself – hunting is an innate, inborn quality in Weimaraners. It is ingrained in my very nature. I simply cannot be held responsible for my occasional acts of random violence. I am born the lord of my lair, the queen of the backyard jungle, the hunter extraordinaire. Be my victim beast or fowl, you must judge me not guilty by reason of my basic nature! (Damn, I knew co-opting Tanya’s nursing classes was a waste of time – I should have gone to law school).

I thought Todd and Tanya understood all this. They seem perfectly fine (although a little squeamish) when I rid the yard of pesky squirrels and chipmunks (I once brought Tanya a lovely trophy and laid it right at her feet – I know she just loved it. And, while she turned a rather sickly shade of green, there was certainly no crying over “Alvin”).

So honestly, I really don’t understand the whole Bugs Bunny mentality. OH MY, touch a floppy-eared wad of bunny fluff and both fur and shit go flying! Not only did Todd pry my jaws open and take the damn thing away from me, but he and Tanya practically gave it a king’s burial after apologizing profusely to its family members, who weren’t really wearing expressions of mourning at all, but smirks at watching my undeserved humiliation.

In actuality, the fun is all in the hunt anyway. So, if no one appropriately appreciates the depths of my skill then the wascally wabbit has bested me nonetheless, just as he did Elmer Fudd, every time.

So fine. Given the poor reaction by my humans, and the fact that yesterday was Bugs Bunny’s 75^th birthday, I’ll do my best to forget further dreams of rabbit stew.

For now…

Bugs Bunny at 75: http://time.com/3967572/bugs-bunny-75/

This is My Fault, How?

It started out as a typical evening in the Cass Casa. Todd arrived home needing to de-stress from a tough day of work and Tanya needing to de-stress from a tough day of looking for work (now that she’s completed her BSN and RN I’ve had to switch from quizzing her for exams to proofing resumes and cover letters – but of course, no one seems to care about my need for work de-stress!). Anyway, all of this de-stressing required something called “cocktails” on the couch for Tanya and Todd, and me serving as petting and cuddling therapy (otherwise known as DD – designated dog). When in the midst of all this coziness, some lowly neighborhood canine walked his human into my front yard, took a big poop on my grass, and sauntered on down the street with not so much as a thank-you, let alone a courtesy clean-up! I was irate and incensed – flying across the couch to the front window and letting said offending dog have a very loud piece of my mind! Unfortunately, my defense of territory (and OK, possibly some resulting minor cocktail spillage) apparently aggravated Todd’s aforementioned stress level – he jumped up, grabbed his truck keys, and raced barefoot out the door intending to hunt down the pooping pooch and his owner!

While Tanya seemed strangely concerned about this turn of events (or perhaps it was the huge knot on her elbow, suffered during the melee), I was actually quite flattered by Todd’s eagerness to avenge my sovereignty. So when Todd came running back into the house I was eager to hear the gory details. But wait – where’s Todd’s truck?! Left down the street, doors locked and engine 

Mystery box

running! At this point I am not the only one frantically chasing around the house barking my head off (or as humans call it, cussing) since the spare set of truck keys are somehow nowhere to be found! Now doors are slamming, boxes are being rummaged, and drawers are being turned on end. Finally, Tanya locates a mystery box, keys are grabbed, and both Tanya and Todd jump into her car and head off to rescue the truck (offending dog and owner long forgotten).

Well, with both Tanya and Todd conveniently occupied elsewhere, I can’t help but eye the large plastic container of leftovers sitting on the kitchen counter in preparation for dinner (Tanya really doesn’t like to cook on de-stress nights).  Famished by all the excitement, I grab the spoon and dig in. Yummy – sausage jambalaya with green peppers – my new favorite! But, just as I begin to make significant progress, my humans return and I am now in BIG trouble!! More cussing ensues, I’m trying to make myself as small as possible, my remaining luscious (and only slightly slobbered on) jambalaya is thrown in the trash, and Tanya is on the phone to Peking Garden.

The leftover
leftovers

So my question is – Tanya and Todd spill drinks on the couch, Tanya bangs up her elbow, Todd locks his keys in a running truck and is forced to race home in bare feet, keys are lost and house is ransacked, Tanya throws away perfectly delicious leftovers… and this is somehow all MY fault? Really?? All I did was try to keep poop off the grass and encourage Tanya and Todd to enjoy a nice Chinese carryout!

Of course, there was the matter of the dog vomit that needed clean-up later. But hey, a minor imperfection just makes me all the more lovable, don’tcha think?

Hasta la Vista, Baby

“Arrivederci”, “Adios”, “Ciao”, “Au Revoir” “See you later, alligator”, “Woof-woof”. There may be fifty ways to leave your lover, but there are at least 100 ways to say good-bye to your dog. And I hate every one of them! Because it means that my people are leaving me alone while they go somewhere fun, like the grocery store or a restaurant (both of which I have heard are awesome places). So where does that leave me? Spending hours frustratingly trying to open bags and boxes that I’ve pulled from the counter top or kitchen pantry, staring out the back door at squirrels who mock my inability to chase their furry little butts, and running from window to window barking furiously at the neighbors who have the nerve to walk their dogs right in front of MY yard. But the very worst good-byes? When I catch Tanya and Todd packing suitcases! This means that I too, will soon be sent packing – off to the Home for Wayward Dogs - otherwise known as the kennel, or sometimes disgustingly referred to as the “puppy spa”. What BS! Why would I possibly want to relinquish my comfy couch, yard, and spot on Tanya and Todd’s bed, in order to spend several days in a mosh pit of unruly canines, sharing both my personal and my potty space? I know it’s been years, but don’t Tanya and Todd remember what dorm life was like? Sleeping with a whining, homesick, neophyte on one side, and an all-night party animal on the other! How am I supposed to get my beauty rest?! While I’ll grudgingly admit that the opportunity to flaunt my specialness in front of a large group of far less superior dogs (they call it “play-time”) does do wonders to stroke the ego, I really am perfectly secure in my self-grander and have no need to be idolized by anyone but my adoring humans.

So when the suitcases came out this time, I hatched my plan of sabotage. I waited patiently (gotcha - you didn’t think I knew what “patience” meant, did you?) until the two large bags were sitting open on the master bedroom floor, completely filled with neatly folded human-wear like swimsuits and Hawaiian shirts. Then, when Tanya and Todd had once again left me alone to do what-ever-it-is they do, I struck! Nabbing a package of jumbo marshmallows procured after opening the pantry door, I took them to the bedroom, tore them open, and began my slobbery work. When my masterpiece was complete, I then carefully removed two of Tanya’s blouses from her suitcase, wadded them up on the floor, and glued them together with a nice, gooey mass of yumminess! Hasta la Vista, baby!

While the satisfaction was maybe not quite worth the retribution I endured when my handiwork was discovered, I did achieve a partial victory. No kennel this time – I got to have my favorite replacement human, Howie, come spend a few days with me, and then I got to enjoy some quality time at Jake and Brynlee’s (other favorite humans) with my nephew Westin, a vizsla. And Westin simply adores me. How could you not - I come bearing marshmallows. 

Too Much of a Good(?)Thing...

Tanya uploaded a new photo editor. Need I say more?

Can You See Me Now?

If I bury myself in the pillows and curl up really tight Todd and Tanya will never even know that I'm in their bed!


Right? 

It Depends...

What's your definition of urinary incontinence?

A major flood? A gush or two when you cough, sneeze, or bark? Certainly not just a few dribbles when you get overly excited or anxious, right? Just try telling that to Tanya and Todd though. Lately they've become ridiculously annoyed by my occasional urinary leakage. I mean really, what’s the big deal - we have hard wood floors. A paper towel, a quick swipe or two and voila – good as new. But now they’ve even taken to putting trash bags on top of the couch cushions. You think they’ve ever tried to find a comfortable sleeping position while laying on a cold, noisy, plastic bag? Hell no. (Unless of course one of them was still bedwetting at age 10, in which case you’d think they’d be more sympathetic to my plight). And recently they’ve started spraying this hideously odiferous dog urine “no-smell, pee-deterrent, I-don’t-know-what” crud all over the sectional in the TV room. I can’t even enjoy an episode of My Cat from Hell on Animal Planet without getting a nose full of nasty, overwhelming cinnamon scent. How am I supposed to sniff out all my good pee spots with that stuff burning my delicate nostrils? (Oh… I suppose I should assume that to be the point).

Anyway, along with the Prozac that I now take for my PTSD (see my post of September 21, 2014) I am now taking 3 (count ‘em, 3!) pills a day to tighten up my pee sphincter and help me “control” myself. At least I’ve made Todd coat them in peanut butter before I’ll even consider being accommodating.

But all of this abuse pales in comparison to the threat of the ultimate humiliation –last week I caught Tanya Googling “dog diapers”!! Great job Tanya – the thought of spending the rest of my days wearing doggie Depends only served to really scare the pee outta me.

So as usual, I’ve been forced to take matters into my own paws.  I’ve begun slipping my Prozac into Tanya and Todd’s wine glasses. Now they’re too dazed to notice a trivial wet spot here and there. Depends disaster narrowly averted.

Tail From the Trenches

“You can't have peace any longer than your neighbor pleases.”      -- Dutch (on war and peace)

To my legions of adoring fans – I am SO sorry to have not updated this blog over the past few months. I know the five of you must have missed me tremendously! But do dry your tears – I’m baaaaack!

The story is sad but true - I’ve been suffering from writers block after experiencing the devastation of PTSD (when I looked up PTSD on-line it took me to the Port Townsend School District, but as I’ve since learned via co-opting Tanya’s nursing school classes, in my case PTSD stands for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder). My therapist has suggested that sharing my story might not only hasten my recovery, but also be a comfort to others in similar circumstances.  If I can help just one other dog in need, my experience will not have been for naught…

In early July of this year, I was exposed to the trauma of a war zone – 4^th of July fireworks! I can’t yet even discuss the screaming, flashes of light, and sudden bursts of horrific noise that assaulted my delicate system and sent me running to hide in the laundry room (nothing like a big nest of dirty clothes to help muffle sound and sight). Not only was I emotionally battered, but the rocket’s red glare and bombs bursting in air gave proof through the night that my bladder was beyond repair. 

I was eventually forced to call for police protection when over-zealous neighbors failed to adhere to the restrictions of City of Noblesville Ordinance #3-1-09. Come on folks, you can’t tell me that singeing your fingers with a cheap bic lighter, scrambling like an idiot to get out of the line of “fire”, and then watching a skimpy poof of sparks is really all that exciting? And then you do it over and over and over for days and days and days. Really? You humans are entirely too easily entertained.

Thankfully, I have a strong constitution, a prescription for Prozac, and gullible humans who will do anything to ease my suffering. So perhaps I now slightly exaggerate my quivers and trembling at the sound of a backfiring car or Todd’s nail gun. And I admit that I took advantage of last night’s thunderstorm to once again nest in the laundry and elicit bribes of all my favorite treats. So what, I’m not beyond playing for sympathy. But I’m also suggesting to my humans that we get the hell out of Dodge next July. I hear that the British don’t feel quite the same way about July 4^th. Cherrio!

No, I Don't Need an Enema!

I was adopted under false pretenses. I knew going into this that Todd worked a lot of hours as an architect/project manager at Gibraltar Design. But, after over 20 years as CEO of the Partnership for Philanthropic Planning, Tanya had retired. Would someone please explain to her what “retired” means, as in “be available all day to devote yourself to Gracie’s every whim”? But oh no, there was a different plan that she and Todd neglected to fill me in on. Tanya went back to college to become a nurse!  Was I Surprised? Shocked? Mortified? Pissed? (That was the only one I could truly express to them). Of course I was. After all, I thought I’d signed on for the “all about me” plan.  Even veterinary school I could have possibly tolerated but a BSN?! And an accelerated program at that - study, study, study 24/7 while I get practically ignored (well, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration). So for six months I had to move my pillow into the home office in order to help her complete the prerequisite microbiology, chemistry, anatomy, physiology, statistics, and theology. Hell, (I learned that term in theology) I could probably pass the damn NCLEX myself by now! (Although you’ll NEVER get me to put on scrubs.)  And now she’s in clinicals and leaves me alone all day while she learns about giving enemas, changing colostomy bags, and interviewing patients about their bowel habits. If she really wanted to clean up poop all day, I’d have been happy to oblige. But no, she just rushes out the door with barely time to toss me a milk bone on her way. And when she IS home? She chases me around the house with a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope trying to take my vitals. And any sympathy from Todd? No way – he’s been enthusiastically cheering her on. (I will have to cut him a little slack though, after Tanya’s history of broken foot, broken jaw, massive black eye, and last summer’s head injury, he’s realized that nursing skills may be a family necessity, although he’s dubious that Tanya will be able to stitch herself.)

In retrospect, maybe this isn’t such a bad deal. Even though the quantity of attention I get has suffered, I’ll admit that the quality is still pretty good.  And I’ve got an awesome GPA.

 

Gag Me With a Spoon

Todd and Tanya won’t let me eat grapes! They tried to explain that grapes can be poisonous to dogs, some such bull about causing kidney failure, yada, yada, yada. They even made me watch an "educational" slide show on pets.WebMD

Please understand - I am usually willing to be a team player, but really??? Sometimes my humans are just a little too uppity about this stuff and need to be shown who’s the true boss in this household. So, when the opportunity arose, I struck! Nabbing a whole bowl of grapes off the kitchen counter was a piece of cake (but that’s yet another story) for me.

Unfortunately, I neglected to hide the evidence. My people panicked when they returned home to find empty grape stems scattered throughout the house. The next thing I know, Todd is prying my mouth open and Tanya is trying to choke me with a spoonful of who-knows-what. I promptly showed them that all that drama was completely unnecessary – just give me the damn spoon, I can drink this crap just fine without your help! (I later overheard that the who-knows-what crap was peroxide. Don’t tell them this, but personally, I found it quite delicious.)

But what happened after that REALLY pissed me off. I lost every one of those luscious grapes in three big pools of vomit. Not my most flattering moment. Even then, the situation could have been salvaged as all the grapes were still whole (I have to eat fast when it’s possible I'll get caught at any second) and I would have appreciated the chance to have another go at it. But oh no, faster than two scurrying squirrels Todd and Tanya destroyed the evidence of their wrongdoing. They told me later that my gulping the grapes down whole not only made clean-up easier, but was what most likely saved them a huge vet bill.  Well la-te-da, aren’t I just little Miss Considerate!

I spent the rest of the evening having a pity party for myself, causing Todd and Tanya to bribe me with tummy rubs and prime real estate on the couch. Believe me, I made them suffer right along with me.

Oh well, I may have made a mess of things (literally), but never mind, they still don’t know about the cake….

Toliet Training

I found this sign hanging at human height in the guest bathroom.

I am NOT amused...

Please put the lid down when you are done.

 I am not allowed to drink from the toilet

and for some silly reason my parents think

 I have very limited self-control.

Grayson

Rules Are Made to be Broken

After more than a year, Todd and Tanya now consider me a permanent part of the family. You might think I’d be happy about that, but being “family” in this household comes with responsibilities. Rules! Chores! Writing a Blog!  Are they kidding?! They really need to consult the AKC guidelines – Weimaraners are members of the sporting group, NOT the working group!  Oh well. Contrary to rumor, far be it for me to pout.  But… let me tell you about those rules:

I’m only allowed on Todd and Tanya’s bed when they put my blanket up there and invite me. (I REALLY prefer to come and go on the bed as I please.) And I have to do a trick, like sit or shake in order to “earn” a treat. How ridiculous! And the ultimate humiliation? I have to let them wipe off my paws with a towel after I’ve been outside in the mud or snow.  (If my first family subjected me to that, I’ve buried the painful memory.) Sometimes when they’ve gone overboard with this stuff, I pout for a while by lying at the opposite end of the couch and making them beg a little for me to come over and lay next to them – that’ll teach 'em! 

But that’s not all. I’m also expected to entertain myself when my people are otherwise occupied or having a private conversation. So I lie on the chair and glare at them until they stop and give me the attention I deserve. And finally, I am not allowed to be fed any treats from their plates while they are eating – I am supposed to sit nicely and let them have all the good stuff. What baloney! (Pardon the pun.) But I’m working on that one - I take turns putting my head on each of their laps and giving them that pathetic look – you know the one. It’s not yet working but I’m sure I can wear them down.