Day Nine Hundred and Eighty Four

Niamh had a sick nose last night. She went to bed all fast asleep before our dinner time. Oh dear.

She got up even after my breakfast. She had her door closed. I could not go in to make her feel all better. Oh dear. That is not right. It is my job. 

Zita had to come home from the Rascal store. Her little computer got sick. Craig fixed it. It was not sick he said. It was a bit confused. Because it is a bit old. Just like Craig and Uncle Bill. 

Uncle Bill came over. For lunch with Craig and Emmet. He brought way big tasty sandwiches. From nice Mister Nicasto's way smelly store. Emmet had a chocolate croissant. It is his favourite. And irish tea.

Tomorrow is everybody pretend to be a green Irishman day. Zita thinks it is silly. She says in way far away Ireland if you eat anything all green you will get sick and die. Except vegetables. Ha. 

That is good. I get green bean treats. From our own beautiful garden. In the nice summer. 

I do not have to pretend to be an Irish dog. I am a nice French dog. 

I saw an Irish dog. At Doctor Smith's nice hospital. It was a giant dog. Too big for way far away Ireland. Ireland is not so big. It would not fit. Ha. 

Dogs do not have to be anything. We are happy because we are dogs. People are silly.

Zita and Niamh are going on an aeroplane tomorrow. Oh dear. Aeroplanes are very noisy. And scary. The are going to the big New City. 

They are going to meet Doctor Susan's daughter there. To see all the way too expensive stores. And maybe a special dance show. With beautiful dancers. Just like my friend Niamh. 

Tonight his Emmet's way old Russians night. At his nice university. He made pasta for his dinnertime. Just pastas. Not tasty tortilinis. With extra cheese for me. Oh well.