Annabelle's regression

She's been so mad at me since I picked her up from the kennel. A couple nights ago, when I said good night to her, she bared her teeth at me. My, what pretty teeth you have, little girl. Sunday afternoon, Julia and Hudson and Tucker were over, and Belly got into the trash in the office. She never does that. And last night was the icing on the cake.

She ran through the goddamn screened-in porch again and was missing for an hour. The wind had knocked over the lovely pieces of lumber I'd stacked up along that side of the porch. This time, though, I was more mad than scared and I just kept saying to myself, "I'm done. DONE with this." So after going up the street once, knowing full well that she wasn't going to respond to my calls, I did what I was originally going to do when I discovered she was missing: I went to the grocery store to get my vanilla ice cream and ginger ale (nursing a cold since I got back, too). When I came back from the store, she wasn't here, so I called Julia again to report that she hadn't returned and, as I'm talking to her, here comes Belly running up to the front door. She knows where she lives. She knows where the bed and the food and the treats are kept. I went out to the garage, brought in her crate, and set it up in her little room. And the kicker is, I think she's happy about it. She went right in, stretched out, and slept the rest of the night.

If nothing else, the mail carrier will be happy that Belly's being crated.