Hey, remember when I used to write regularly about all the cute/sweet stuff my husband did? (Hey, remember when I used to write regularly, period? You hush.) He is still cute and sweet. He is still my favorite, especially when I get to see him, which is not all that often, because he’s a busy guy. For example, he was just away on a work trip being a rock star, and I’m super proud of him, but also I totally let Duncan have his side of the bed while he was gone, because Duncan never abandons me just to go “teach” and “learn” and “be a good citizen of the world.” (Duncan’s interests lie mainly in “leading you to the kibble container and pretending you forgot to feed him” and “snoring” and “pretending not to like it when you rub his belly.”)
Duncan is also willing to snuggle in bed, which gives him a slight edge over Otto (who—as you may recall—requires a boundary area), but Otto smells better and hardly ever wakes me up by incessantly licking my feet, sooooo… yeah.
Anyway, the point is (I swear I had a point…) that Otto is swell and I like him a whole lot, and he is very nearly infallible in all of the ways which matter. (In the ways in which it doesn’t matter at all, he still gives me plenty of fodder. For example: The other night he pulled some grapes out of the fridge and made several displeased noises before I asked what his problem was, and he said, “Ugh, these grapes are moldy.” Before I could respond, he added, “Do you want me to keep them or should I toss them?” Yes, Otto, please hang on to those moldy grapes. I have a special recipe for rotting fruit! It starts with moldy grapes and ends with DUDE WHY WOULD YOU EVEN ASK ME THAT?)
And because I haven’t told you an Otto story in quite a while, I thought I’d offer up a doozy because yesterday was a very long day.