That doesn’t include begging for human food – he will do that anywhere, pretty much. Hey, come to think of it his “dog food” is mostly human food: browned ground chuck, browned buffalo burger, chicken and rice. Oh, and the meat are throughly drained and patted after being browned. There is a small bit of Purina One for sensitive digestive systems added in for vitamins; he actually chows down food sold in the store for table food.

He won’t eat it in the kitchen. I stood there today washing glasses and cookie sheets and whatnot and his dish was close by and no one else was in the house, but he would not eat – even though I had warmed his food in the microwave. So, when I was done, I warmed it again and carried it out to the porch where he has become accustomed to eating while I sit on the sofa, laptop on lap. He ate it. Well everyone needs a place where they feel comfortable, where they have a regular spot and everyone knows his name.

Hey, Norm . . . wait, I mean Sydney.

My grandmother, Jessie Shimp, nee Wisler, used to say this when something out of the ordinary happened, usually something that would cause a complication or outright trouble. She was born in 1881 and I don’t think she ever said, “Well, this is a Hell of a note.” I think I first said the great note phrase when I pretty little; I remember my mother remarking, “She heard that from Mom.”

A lot of things are “a great note” around here these days, from Hillary Clinton to routine family things.

At least the dog is a nice guy.