It began when I squatted down to put a paper in a bottom file drawer. Alanis, having just finished dinner, decided the back of my sweater made an attractive target. Sniff, sniff. Rub, rub. Ooo, great place for wiping the wet beard and the nubby texture of the sweater felt good against a fuzz-face.
What can a person do at a time like this? Fall over laughing, becoming an invitation for Alanis to wipe her face all over me so that I totally smell like wet Airedale beard and she is clean and dry.
Then she settled in for some serious work on the squeaky fleece toy.
