I can feel him staring hard at my back. He’s waiting with anticipation – of what, I cannot be sure. I know he is there, but I refuse to turn around and return the stare, let alone a glance. He lets on his frustration with a whine now and again. I actually find that cute in a strange way.
Almost as soon as I wrote that last thought, he changed his tune. It’s funny how the males are like that; it must be the testosterone. Now he is deadly quiet. I am sure that he is still there, but I think he must be looking the other way. I still refuse to look.
I lied. I *did* just look. He’s doing the pathetic, poor me song and dance. It pulls on my heartstrings. I can’t resist. I guess I’ll get dressed and take him for a walk.