Bring On The Rufftine

Dad jokes about getting older, but this is no joke; I feel like I've aged seven years in the past 12 months. And maybe another seven in the last 24 hours. I'm not liking this move.

Our new den seems okay, especially now that Dad unpacked the kennels. There's a field behind the hotel that we can run around in, but it doesn't seem to have any rabbits in it. Maybe I'll get lucky tomorrow.

I'll consider myself lucky tonight if I can get a good rest. I woofed twice last night because of noise in the hallway, and I had a bad dream about getting trapped on the bella-vator. Is that what it's really called? If I find out Bella lied, I'm going to nip her good.

I can't woof until things settle back down. Bring on the rufftine.

O.