A note from exile


Why, hello, subjects.

I, err, mean readers.

In case you haven’t noticed, it’s me, Muffin. And in case you haven’t noticed something else—which because it’s me you SHOULD HAVE—I’m not in Nashville right now. (No, I don’t know how the city is functioning without my presence either.) But anyway, I’m visiting my Moppy and Poppy, Keith and Gail, in Southeast Missouri right now.

And I’m just going to say this: I don’t think this household has the appropriate amount of respect for me. I mean, I am queen. A wonder dog. But wait—I’m not a dog. I’m practically royalty! But no one is really letting me call the shots here. There’s this other dog named Sophie who’s really quite bossy. And this thing they call Sarah who’s just weird. I forget she’s here half the time, until she shows up and starts eating the food.

Plus, I’ve had to sleep in a room BY MYSELF. And the first couple of the nights the wind was really loud. And scary. And I may look tough, but if you really want to know, that’s all an act. And I’m scared of loud wind. So I had to cry and carry on and make my Moppy get up with me in the middle of the night. Numerous times. I appreciate her, though. Even if she is a little miffed about me keeping her awake at night.

But I’m ready for my exile to end. It’s time for me to come back to Nashville. I’m sure the house, the community, and Nashville as a whole is simply falling to pieces because I’m not there. But right now, I have to go. There’s a tractor driving down the road in front of the house and it’s my duty to bark at it. A lot.

—Muffin

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