Oh Well...

I've given up on politics, the coming of the Lord (sometime in May) and our nation's bankruptcy. I am more concerned about my spelling and the fact that my dogs have figured out new methods of bullying me.
I get up every morning and read, think and pray. Don't tell anyone.
Everything is calm until I hear the thump of a large body hitting the floor upstairs Winnie is awake and moving. She trots downstairs, checks over the other dogs and tells them to get moving. Then it's outside, bray at all that moves until I let them back in.
Mickey prances around until I get out the insulin and needle and most importantly the treat. I shoot him up, give him the fake bacon and start to clean up. Winnie and Nook creep in and start lurking. Nook is lousy at lurking, especially since he sticks his head into the pan on the stove at every turn. I dump the expensive healthy nuggets in their bowls and prepare to get dressed. Then it starts. The dogs cast disgusted eyes over me and retreat. Their food remains untouched.
I wait it out. These damndogs are too spoiled for words,  let them starve.
Winnie waits patiently, keeping Mickey close by. Damndog, she's worked something out. The very second Mickey's insulin reacts with no food she herds him to me.
OH Shit! I say, Mickey's have a something attack and Marguerite the nurse said I should give him sugar! Then I run around an look for syrup, honey, anything. Encouraged, Mickey shakes harder, his eyes implore me. He loves sweets. So I try to reach the sugar.
In the end, alls well, but I am informed that he must EAT in the morning.

Winnie assures me that finely grated fresh Parmesan mixed in the kibble is acceptable.

(Oh. I just found the spell check on this thing. Great.)