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Destinations, Dreams and Dogs - International adventure with a fast-track family (& dogs) of Old World values, adopting the Russian-Italian-American good life on the go…!

Dogs With an Attitude

My dog just hung up on me.  Oh yes he did.

Misha!  My big baby, my sweetie pie, my fluffy foo-foo with the silky black waves, my Scottie par excellence.

Okay, he was miffed.  I was calling because I missed him.  And never the twain shall meet.

It started at 3:45 a.m.  This was one of those days that I didn’t have to get up until 6:00 a.m. or so.  But I did, just to placate the masses.  Wrong move.

“Can I go back to bed?” I ask Benedetto.  “Just the boys need to be fed.”

“I’ll do it, no problem,” he agrees, understanding that I mean that only the dogs, Misha and Grisha, must be fed.

I had already seen Grisha, Mr. Propeller Tail who wags and wags, even at 4:00 in the morning.  Misha, however, was not going to emerge out of bed until there was some breakfast in his bowl.  I didn’’t want to disturb him just to give him a kiss.  Wrong move.

I miss him by 8:00 a.m.  Our car calls Benedetto’s car.

“May I speak with Misha?” I ask.

“He’s sleeping in the back,” meaning he’s on the back seat of the SUV, in dreamy-land, and no, my husband is not about to wake him.  Even Misha the Scottish Terrier had handlers who kept the riff-raff away.

After work, Benedetto is too busy to put Misha on the phone.  Foiled again.

“We’ll call you back,” he suggests.

Around bedtime, I call again.

“Misha?”

“Here’s Grisha,” Benedetto puts the little guy on the phone and his ears twitch and rotate in circles when I speak to him.  “And here’s Misha….”

“How’s my Big Baby?” I coo.  “I miss you, Sweetie Pie.  Are you being a good boy…?”

Click.

Click?  The line went dead.  What-?!

My assistant redialed, holding the phone out for me while I drove.

“Did Misha just hang up on me?” I asked my husband.

“As soon as he heard your voice, he got excited, poked the phone with his nose, and clicked it off,” he explained.  “Talk to him now….”

“Misha-leh, my shnookie-kabuki… I love you, Big Guy….”

Misha moans, obviously groaning from the grief of missing me.

My baby.

Now that we had “talked”, I could go to bed in peace.  Hopefully, he felt the same way.

 

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