I can't believe what a big ole' baby Bob is.  He is almost eleven months old now, so you'd think he would stop that silly baby crying all the time, but no.    Nope.  Not.    Still making those silly little pathetic sounds at every opportunity.   Now it's about my hat.

I helped find the box of Christmas Decorations and it was my hat first.   I found it, I got my Mom to help me put it on, and our friend Bev sent me the photo graph.     Now Bob wants The Hat.    He has been crying continuously ever since he saw my picture.      I finally had to give in and let him wear it.

My Gram says that Bob is just DBK.   That stands for Dumb, But Kind.      He flings kibble out of his dinner bowl, just so his friend Rusty can have a few extra morsels.    Who gives kibble away?     No body I know.      He crowds himself into his crate along with his friend Scarlett, just so she won't be cold.   Who shares their crate like that?  No body I know.     And the list goes on.     I told him it was high time he grew up and got a clue.

My Gram says I had better watch out.    She says that our house is crawling with Elves sent here from the North Pole to spy on us and that if they report back to Santa that I haven't been sharing my kibble or letting Bob play with my toys, that I'll find myself with nothing but a stocking full of coal.

I get the point, Gram.      And you know what?   I'll settle for the coal, if I can just keep That Darned Hat.

Love,
The Lady in Red, Daisy