I think my dog is really 14.

It's really hard to sneak a piece of chocolate when the wrapper is so loud your dog can hear it, how in God's name can he hear it, three rooms away.

It's even harder to sit and paint details in with the tiniest brush imaginable, and you're holding your breath and not thinking about anything but how close to the line you're getting, so your hand doesn't shake ... And then the dog barks and, you swear, that dog was in the other room not one second ago. HOW DOES HE DO IT. And now you are wearing black paint.

Everything is new to a puppy: gravity, physics, etc. Especially a psycho puppy who, in the middle of learning something really important such as how to roll over on command, suddenly goes running around the circle the first floor makes. Seven, eight and ... yup, make that nine times before skidding on the wood floor, right into the wall.

But then when you want to play, suddenly your dog gets all adolescent on you and lays on the floor, looking at you like "Seriously, woman." And you swear you just heard "you're embarrassing me" through clenched teeth.

At least that's how my Monday night is going -- from infant-like fun to adolescent rage, all in 68 minutes.