Can anyone tell me what's so wrong with living a dog's life?
As my husband, son and I rushed around doing Sunday jobs, Ceilidh sat, steaming slightly after a good but damp walk, and admired the roaring fire for much of the day. She relieved the monotony later with a little play and then a snooze, still in front of the fire.
"Gosh I'm nice and warm and sleepy. What are those silly humans rushing around for."