I’ve told you about my dog, Bucky.
He’s incredibly smart, but is definitely my wife’s dog. I can be gone for ten days, but when I finally come home, he will lift his head off of his bed, see who it is, then with a look that says, “Oh, it’s just you,” he promptly returns to his ever-important slumber.
But my wife can be gone for ten minutes, and when she comes back in the door, you’d think it was the second coming of Christ as he bounces and dances all excited and happy that “Mommy’s Home!”
Now, I should be offended by it all – after all he spends most of his time wi...