Since Leta's nap schedule has become less of a schedule and more of a torture regimen, getting Chuck out of the house for walks has become difficult if not impossible. We'll occasionally get him out to a park and let him run his skinny ass off, but even that happens about only once or twice a week. Plus it's cold outside, and the only exercise he gets on walks are thigh lifts as he pees on every mailbox, twig, and blade of grass between here and Starbucks.

Chuck used to come running when he heard me rattle my keys thinking that we'd be headed to a park or an open field, but recently he has given up hope. He knows he isn't coming with us wherever we're going. He knows now that I'm most likely going to say, "You're not coming with us, buddy, but watch the house, okay?" And then he runs downstairs, makes a bed of leisure on our dirty clothes in the laundry room and sleeps for the rest of the afternoon.

This morning I had to return a rug to a showroom and was only going to be gone for a about 20 minutes. I grabbed my keys, put Leta's coat on, and almost tripped over Chuck as he headed straight for the basement. Just as I was about to say, "Sorry, buddy," he looked up at me and gave me this totally condescending look that said, "Woman, I know I am not going with you, thus I'm going to sleep calmly in the basement where I will remain for the rest of the day doing absolutely nothing. Shall I tell you to suck it, you envious twat?"