Dear Humans,

It is day six of my imprisonment. I do not know how many more days I shall be kept in my cell and halo of torture. [Ed.: nine more days, nine more impossible days] 

I haven't even been granted laptop privileges today until just now. She Who Is No Fun is probably worried about what secrets I may spill, now that everyone knows the truth about the donkey balls. I had nightmares.

The cold remained yesterday. I was not having much of it. Inside and in the way was the place to be. I have been following She Who Is No Fun very closely, to make sure no innocent animals are harmed, but she keeps yelling and growling when my halo hits her in the shins. Much like the Devil reacts to holy water, I assume.

My brother returned from The Place Of Joy (Ruff Haus) yesterday evening, and I tried to give him a good sniff and a good cleaning, but I think he has a little of the Devil in him too, because he did not appreciate my halo, either.

To amuse myself, I kept barking at the back door. She Who Is No Fun kept assuming I needed to go out for a pee, and would get dressed in all her outside gear. But when she opened the back door, I would instead stare at the garage door, to tell her I wanted to go for a car ride. She said her back isn't ready for that, and she has to do her exercises before next Monday when she'll have to lift me into the back to get my staples out. She doesn't want to have to do it more than once.

But seriously, I question this woman's intelligence – it was below minus 30 with the windchill last night, why would I want to go outside in that?!?!?

Once again, I awoke at 6am, because I wanted to go outside in that. Perhaps I should have had more foresight yesterday, because She Who Is No Fun assumed I was just bored again, and went back to sleep. I hung on until 9, but then I REALLY wanted to go outside, so her Saturday morning sleep-in and snuggle routine was screwed (which is all well and good, since I'm not allowed on the bed to snuggle, anyhow, and Jasper would have had all the lovin').

She put on all her outside gear (it had not warmed), and forgot to turn off the alarm before opening the door. That was fun. But I really needed out. She finally turned off the siren and we dashed outside where I peed a Great Lake on the patio. Maybe now she'll pay attention when I start to fuss at 6am tomorrow.

It has warmed up quite a bit now, but I'm still not too big on hanging out in the great outdoors. When you've got a belly full of metal, the cold gets to you pretty quickly.

Jasper The Stinky Brother has taken over the role of the problem child, as he's stuck home with me today, too. But he's not on a sedative, so he's even more of a jerk. Mom keeps sending him outside to get in trouble, but he's such a baby, he doesn't want to play without me there, AND I'M NOT ALLOWED TO PLAY.

So we are supporting each other in our misery, as Mom tries to figure out the ethics of pretending she dropped my pills down the sink and getting extra for him. She continues to look at the volume of pills in the bottle, and fret that there are only two more days of sedation. We live in hard times.

She has given up on preventing me from getting on my favourite couch. It's low enough I don't have to jump. But eyeing the bed invokes her Mom-voice "eh eh eh". I must learn to not telegraph my desires so clearly.

I am told my bruising is almost gone, and that it no longer pains Mom quite so much to look at my scar. Although she did say it looks like the Bride of Frankenstein's vagina, which is disturbing on many levels. I don't even want to go there.  [Ed.: see “Exhibit A” below (unless you're squeamish… I've hopefully left enough space below her signature so you don't have to look if you don't want to… and included a photo of Gráinne raiding the lettuce so there isn't a gross thumbnail image attached to this post…) ] 

It is time for my Magic Pumpkin, and The Gatekeeper wants her laptop back [Ed.: it's my freaking laptop, maybe when you earn the kibble money, you can dictate who gets to use your stuff whenever you want]

Ah yes, there she goes, pulling rank again. She keeps telling me she's the responsible adult, and maybe someday when I'm more mature, I'll appreciate all she's doing to keep me safe and healthy. Joke's on her, though, because I turn 8 in May, and DOG YEARS, people – I'll be older than her, at last! We'll see how she feels when I tell her when it's time to eat or lie still or go to her crate. [Ed.: I'll still be the one with opposable thumbs and a bank account, just sayin'...]

Humph. Give me my Magic Pumpkin and leave me to my misery. You're not my real mother.

Goodbye, all. Until She Who Is No Fun allows me laptop privileges again.

Love and snurfles, 
Macie

[Ed.:  Exhibit “A” will be hidden at the bottom of this post]