Still reading book four, in which the author gives up all pretense of writing for children with the line "Crabbe and Goyle chuckled sycophantically."
I tried last night to reproduce the pleasant evening of the night before. I braved a cold, light rain to bring in wood from the woodpile and I built a nice fire. Unfortunately, Saint decided the previous evening hadn't been all that much fun, come to think of it, and he wanted me to go downstairs to the family room, where I could throw the ball at the stairwell repeatedly throughout the evening, as I usually do. I have a barrier between the breakfast room and the living/dining area to keep him out of the living room when he has muddy paws, but I left the gate open last night so he could join me in the living room. He wouldn't. Instead he lay just on the other side of the open gate, with his ball beside him. Every time I looked over at him he was staring at me with a pleading look in his eyes. I couldn't take it for long. I only read about fifty pages.
Hehe, hard to say no to the pup.