Naturally, since being struck down by the devil, I haven't been much of a pet owner. Cecilia and I had been taking pretty regular walks in the creek lately and since I've been spending the latter part of this week feeling sorry for myself in bed, all she's gotten are a few chances to rush outside and do her business before I have to shout, "Dog! Get inside! I'm SICK!" and she slinks back up the stairs like the humble, submissive creature that she is. So when she's sitting by my bed all this afternoon, crying and making these half-howling noises that, I swear, are both excruiatingly adorable and unbearable at the same time, I'm thinking that the selfish animal wants a walk. "You're crying??" I'm thinking. "YOU? Let me tell you something, I should be crying. Me. But I'm stronger than that." Soon afterwards I head out to the kitchen to take some of the dozens of glasses and mugs that have been lining up on the bedside table to the sink and notice that the water bowl is entirely empty. Cecilia starts licking it's empty inside, and giving me little shy, loving looks as though she's saying, "Ho hum, if only there were something in here." I fill it up and all three animals go rushing over as though they've been playing beach volleyball for several hours and man, do they need some refreshment. They should be able to talk by now, dogs.