Tiny Dog did not care for camping much. She was on High Alert the entire weekend, after barking at passers-by and rustling leaves and questionable twigs -- not to mention incessant snapping at every flying insect. (I tried to get some footage of her insect-hunting; half of the time, she would stop whenever I turned on the camera, and the other half of the time, Beloved Husband and Cherished Friend happened to be talking in the background. Once I reviewed the footage, I realized that I cannot post it, as their voices, like their faces, are private. Alas. You will just have to use your imagination for the incessant fly-snapping.)
By the time we were ready to go home, poor Tiny was exhausted. She climbed up to her favorite perch in the car -- on my shoulders -- and promptly fell asleep for the entire two-and-a-half-hour drive.
She is a pill. But she is adorable, too.
Not Poetry Thursday
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