I’m Still Her Favorite

I bet you’ve been wondering.

Nessa being a girl, and Her being a girl and the Girl being a girl and what with the way that kind all sticks together – Hell, I was wondering too.

Top. Dog.

But glad to say, I’m still top dog around here.  Here’s the evidence:

Who does She call in the morning to go down to the chickens?

Who does She take for a walk on the towpath in the afternoon?

Who does She put in Her lap when She starts up the Bobcat?

Who does She take to the beds and talk to while She’s working?

Who helped her dig all the bananas?

Who eats mice?

Who doesn’t chase the chickens?

Nessa can’t fit her huge gorilla head under this.

And finally, what size bed does She have in Her office?  I can pretty much rest my case with this one. That Neverending Story muppet is like 20 times bigger than me and can’t even fit her big fat mouth in my bowl much less her butt on my bed.

Yep, it’s me. It’s all me. Top. Dog.  In fact, I think I’m even topper than ever after the counter-surfing incident.  Le Creuset cookware isn’t cheap and that marionette cracked the hell out of her sauteuse.

Yep, I know my sauteuses from my cocottes.  I’m that smart.

Best place for her.

What was that Nessa?  Don’t know a prized Normandy market basket from a sanctioned chew toy, from a recently planted Cornus sericea?

Yeah I thought not. Guess what?  I do.