For those who don't know, The Snickerdoodle is my mom's dog Emmah. She's a Goldendoodle; a designer dog. Hypoallergenic. Sensitive to hats. My "sister." The Snickerdoodle can not do a lot of things. She can not eat onions. She can not be outside in the dark and she can not be by herself. So tonight the pack is having a slumber party with The Snickerdoodle. Emmah had to come stay the night in case it started to snow and her feet got wet, then hypothermic and then had to be amputated. Because she's a designer dog, Emmah has a hard time even looking at Randi and Earl. They are beneath her and not worthy of her attention. My house is inferior because she doesn't have her toys or her box of bones or my mom to do what she wants.
My sister and I think my mom somehow has some kind of Snickerdoodle cam placed on Emmah, so she can see everything that we do with her when she's not around. If Emmah could talk every sentence would start with "I'm going to tell my mom" in a pretentious voice. Tonight I'm sure she's stock piling all of the injustices at my house: no cheese at dinner, nobody to hold her while she watches TV, Randi keeps trying to play and Earl went in her crate. (Of course she has a crate. Emmah can't sleep unless she's in the crate. She's not about to sleep in/on some highly inferior bed. Designer dogs deserve designer beds.)
The last time we had a slumber party with The Snickerdoodle, she took all of Clark's toys and put them in her crate. She brought sticks into my house. Then she took a bath in the dog's water and came in the house. Of course The Snickerdoodle loves water. Her lineage can probably be traced to Martha's Vinyard.
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