Roland in the house — my house

I've written on occasion about Roland.

Well, the pooch himself is spending the weekend with Kate and me while Maria Burnham, Roland's human and my editor, goes off gallivanting.

That is the first time I've ever written a sentence with the word "gallivanting" in it.

Kate and Roland trotted around the apartment for a while and then things settled down to normal.

For Kate, that is.


Roland eventually found a spot underneath the table where he remained while I finished my coffee and online news reading. Sorry, newspaper industry. I guess I am part of the problem.


Thing is, I couldn't move my legs, but the priority is to make the guest happy, right?

Roland did keep an eye on me (the eyes!) as I moved around the place, even coming upstairs with me for a bit.

But, for right now, until he gets used to the new environs, I guess under the table is as good a spot as any.


It's close to the water; it's got a view of the patio. What could be bad?

UPDATE: I was upstairs getting ready for work and I heard barking. From inside my apartment. Not something that usually occurs. I went downstairs and Roland was growling at the complex's handyman who had come by unannounced. Good boy, Roland.