Shop Til You Drop

Stuff. It's all over our house. Everytime Stacy and Ryann come home they bring more stuff. Sure, sometimes they bring me stuff, I admit it. But sometimes I think they buy stuff to replace the other stuff they can't find. Why do I think this? They are always asking ME to find stuff for them.

"Clete, where'd I put my keys?" What do I need with keys? I have no thumbs.

"Clete, have you seen my shoes?" Sure, blame it on the dog when you can't find your shoes. Nice.
But my favorite is when they ask me to find my own stuff. "Clete where's your bone? Where's it at? Go get it." Hey, Einsteins, yes, I do know where my bone is - dogs are known for their sense of smell, remember? Geesh. It's like they don't know me at all.

Sometimes, though, they do take me with them to go when they get their stuff. Just this weekend Stacy and I went to the place that smelled like Ryann's pointy shoe outfits. Lots of other people must take their stuff there, too, because lots of clothes hung everywhere. I was very good and waited for Stacy by the door, until my new friend Linda gave us a treat. Well, it turned out it wasn't a treat - just a piece of paper. Bleck. Not my kind of stuff.

Other places, though, make me wait outside. Well, at least I get to window shop.