We're a two holiday household -- celebrating Hanukkah and Christmas. This year both seemed to be more about sparkling lights and the enthusiasm of parents and grandparents than Charlotte; but that only adds to the excitement for coming years. Plus, I've discovered that spoiling daughters is apparently a recessive trait in all men -- I own the Old Navy baby section.

In the picture above, our daughter is the embodiment of a scrappy Londoner -- she is indeed quite 'Appy. With a starter's collection of Dr. Seuss and a set of stackable cups, what more could a baby that is grabby and stare-y need from Christmas?

As for below? Our daughter is a fluffy pink Yeti courtesy of her Uncle Sam and Aunt Tai. This was easily one of the stars of Christmas as it introduced a new level of adorableness, heretofore unseen in Kansas City. So if you are ever feeling uncute, I suggest a full-body pink fleece snow outfit.

I have never been a fan of going to the barber. I, like Sampson, cried when my locks were first cut and although I've managed to avoid tears for the past several years, I often delay haircuts well past the expiration date of my hairdo.

As such, Charlotte's first official haircut was to be at home. Based on an incident in our North End apartment in Boston which resulted in my seeking immediate, professional assistance after the first pass with the clippers, Kate was out of the running to play amateur barber. The key with cutting a baby's hair is to approach them as you might an animal in the wild -- slowly and with no sign of the scissors that you intend to use.

We cut approximately three dozen hairs between the two of us -- basically eliminating the rat tail that threatened to grow out of Charlotte's lady mullet. But other than that, this was not much of a haircut. As you can see, her locks continue to grow wildly and freely. Out of professional courtesy, we didn't hold up the mirror behind her head -- so that she might not have an opportunity to deride our work, but also to spare her the truth that she is going bald in the back.

A recent animal summit was convened in the Bender household with Charlotte playing the role of Switzerland. The kitchen was selected as a neutral location, in that it afforded the cat the high ground and the baby the comfort of a lamb chair. After a lengthy filibuster from our daughter, which primarily consisted of the vowel sound "oh," the negotiations between the animal contingent and the rest of the house commenced.

The baby managed to broker a peace between the warring nations of Charlie and Houdini long enough for some meaningful legislation to pass. It was ruled that everyone should be fed more. The duopoly in charge have procured oatmeal and formula -- pictures of the implementation will be forthcoming.

Child labor laws have finally come to the North Pole -- it was a hard fought victory of new-world laws over old world magic. Here, one of Santa's elves is seen enjoying a well-earned respite.

Sadly this elf has not learned about the spirit of Christmas and hordes all of her toys with the understanding that general cuteness is an acceptable excuse in this house. In her defense, it remains a marvel to all that she has developed the manual dexterity to not only grip toys, but on occasion, use them to gently (but repeatedly) strike herself in the cheek and forehead with them.

Sources inside Santa's workshop suggest that this elf is attempting to spot check all of the toys through the same method as barkeeps and prospectors in the Old West by biting down on them to test their legitimacy. However, seeing as she has not yet developed any teeth, this is proving a difficult metric to utilize. Accordingly, the cheek and forehead-strike maneuver may be a stopgap solution until the smallest elf in the shop gets a head full of chompers.

Since a lot of our culture is currently recycled from when I was a kid -- Transformers, Cabbage Patch Kids -- it shouldn't be surprising that Charlotte's new favorite toy is one of my childhood classics -- Raggedy Ann.

I had Raggedy Ann's brother (friend/twin) Raggedy Andy, who besides sharing a name with my real-life older brother, had overalls, of which I was a big fan.

Kate just remains hopeful that she is a red-head like Raggedy Ann -- so perhaps this doll will inspire Charlotte to better choices than overalls or apron-covered, denim dresses. Raggedy Ann/Andy are best taken as suggestions of what might be, rather than literal fashion guides.

In today's installment of "what's that look saying," the above picture suggests that my daughter has discovered incredulity. It will serve her well as she is the offspring of a man prone to making up stories. Charlotte can also raise an eyebrow in mock surprise -- it is a devastating retort from a baby.

Today's post is meant to serve notice to all of the plush ducks out there -- it's time you learned that there is a tiny baby mouth that is ready to leave you slightly damp and smelly. Charlotte recently discovered that she can not only grasp objects, but that if they are moved towards her open mouth, they can dock like a tiny, furry spaceship.

But before you are devoured alive duck, you will be jostled, smacked, and even lost for brief periods of time. And just when you think that you might escape, an adult hand will swoop in and place you once again in the crying baby's grasp. After that, you'll watch as two eyes become crossed and the tractor beam locks on to your beak.

So, to you plush ducks and moose and butterflies, I give you advance warning. The baby is coming and she is hungry.

All parents hope to help their children achieve in life and as such, we may rush our kids into things that neither of us is exactly ready for... Exhibit A in Charlotte's young life shall henceforth be known as the night several weeks ago that mommy and daddy trotted out the Bumbo Baby Seat -- the blue foam chair that brings out the double chin in our young daughter.

Kate and I were overwhelmed by the sight of slump-a-saurus sitting upright, courtesy of the molded chair and neck support that rivals a middle linebacker's spine protectors. The baby simply sat and mentally projected the word, "Really," over and over. Cut to a few weeks later and we're now in negotations as to when the high chair will be assembled by daddy, before being disassembled and put together properly by mommy.

It feels like we should have made a small sign with the date and Kate's age, but this is the photo of Mommy's first day back to work. And just like Eddie Murphy, we have begun our own little version of Daddy Daycare here in Kansas City. Charlotte and I wore matching pink cardigans to celebrate the occasion.

The Three Bears were dismayed to come home and find that someone had been sleeping in their bed. But real life is a lot more complicated than fairy tales. When we brought Charlotte home the other night, we discovered that a rather large cat was sleeping in her fuzzy lamb chair.

To her credit, the baby seemed to take the event quite well. Houdini, too fat to jump up and run away through the woods, merely stretched, turned upside down, and resumed sleeping in the lamb chair. The cat awoke and demanded large amounts of porridge, shortly thereafter. The baby, despite not knowing what porridge is, later joined in the feline union's demands with a sympathy strike that consisted of incoherent babbling and a bit of confused yelling.

A hoodie is an important article of clothing in the Bender household. Most days finds me in one of two hoodies -- one an homage to Halifax, the other says Burton Trucking -- the only trucking company capable of handling a supernatural battle in Chinatown.

Kate regularly dons her hoodie with the words Benderphone across the zipper -- an acknowledgment of The Boston Globe's decision to print her letter to the editor, inexplicably with the word phone attached to our last name. It was funny, but you may have had to be there. It is how my wife is known in the North End though, ahhh...Mrs. Benderphone, so nice to see you.

As such, we were determined to get the baby in a hoodie as soon as possible. For now, she is in a neutral hoodie -- emblematic of her lack of a favorite movie or notable letter to the editor. She has sent in several screeds to the Kansas City Star -- but they have wisely chosen not to print them, seeing as they are the incoherent babble of a baby which is likely the same thing as libel.

So, for now, Charlotte will have to be content with a sloganless hoodie and a passing resemblance to Elliott in E.T.

As for the above photo, a few answers to the questions you'll obviously have:

(1) Yes, our daughter would make a lovely addition to a classic movie requiring the actresses to wear bathing caps.

(2) The flash of a camera continues to be surprising to her, perhaps she is merely surprised that her father continues to take pictures that are mostly in focus.

(3) And just as it would appear, she is hiding a beehive hairdo beneath that cap.

It has been a week of unfortunate hair choices. Every six months or so, I make a grand attempt to discover if this will be the year that a beard successfully grows in. And each year, I discover that this was a poor idea, usually long after it has become apparent to the outside world that it would be a good idea to give up the goatee.

But if my judgment is questionable, you have to wonder about Kate -- who assigned me the task of brushing the baby's hair after a recent bath. As Kate picked a sleeper out of the closet, I set to work on styling Charlotte's hairdo. Naturally, I decided that I couldn't fight nature. Charlotte's hair has a tendency to stick up comically in back, so I was curious if it could be made to stick up in front as well.

And that is how you end up with a baby faux-hawk for two days.

We decided to pool our resources this year and focus on one sweet costume for the three of us. We drew straws and Charlotte ended up with the smallest straw (she did lodge a formal protest, seeing as she is not quite capable of grabbing and holding straws yet), meaning she would have to dress up -- which is lucky because although the costume is adorable, I've never looked good in horizontal red stripes.

Kate had the inspired design idea to make jagged sleeves on the onesie. I have since cut the sleeves on the rest of Charlotte's onesies as I think it will make her look like a tougher baby. She smiles too much to be intimidating. But a smiling baby in jagged sleeves, you're basically an enforcer like Rocky Balboa.

Below is what happens when a pirate discovers their nose. It's a new development here in the Bender household and based on the concentration devoted to keeping track of the nose, there is apparently some concern on Charlotte's part that the nose will be leaving the building. So far it appears to be attached well, but Kate and I will add it to our list of concerns and maintenance checks as the baby's super.

We remain in search of a nickname for our daughter. It's a critical component of being in the family. Today, we're seeing if pumpkin fits -- after all it's the nickname that Kate was given by her father.

But in the long run we would still like to avoid a derivative nickname, so here are the dozen or so that are currently in the rotation depending on mood and relative amount of sleep deprivation.

There are the food options: fussy sandwiches, fussy sausages, sad-o sausages, sweet peaches, Mrs. Potato Bear, and sugar.

The descriptive options: baby girl, baby lady, baby smiles.

The animal references: little bear, baby monk(ey).

The movie suggestion: Slumpdog Millionaire.

And the undefinables: hoots magoots, kicks mcgicks, sunshine, and samkon sad-o.

Below is Charlotte's reaction to being told she needs to pick a nickname. She was shocked that such a weighty task was being given to the household's smallest member. However, she understood when we informed her that she still had at least five pounds to go before she outweighed Houdini the cat, whereupon she immediately ate the entire pumpkin next to her.

The right hand has finally discovered what the left hand is doing. And after a prolonged struggle in which the right hand discovered that the left hand is a formidable opponent, perfectly matched in strength and grip -- almost as if they were twins separated at birth -- the contest ended in a tie with both participants exhausted.

Shortly after this photo was taken, the right hand stirred first and after a brief shake, finally defeated the left hand -- moving it slowly, but inexorably towards the mouth, where it was then overwhelmed by a copious amount of saliva. Thankfully, that was when the referee stopped the fight, drying the left hand with a burp cloth and declaring the right hand the victor.

The right hand celebrated by sliding a thumb between the pointer and index finger in what can only be seen as either an offensive gesture or the most brilliant thing the baby has ever done.

We've all made unfortunate Halloween costume choices. Mine was most likely a desperation pick in Brooklyn, when I allowed Kate to talk me into being Frodo Baggins -- which consisted of a collared sweater, bare feet, and my wedding ring on a chain around my neck.

So, it's nice to see my daughter two years later following in my footsteps, courtesy of the gift of a baby poncho from a relative. We've decided she looks a bit like the offspring of Samwise Gamgee and is ultimately a much cuter hobbit than her father.

A lot of the day is spent wondering what everybody is thinking about in our house. Above is the latest meeting of the minds. I imagine Charlotte is wondering why one of the puppies from the mobile above her crib has grown tremendously in size. As for Charlie, her motivation would appear to be the same as always -- can I get a lick in before the hands on my sides pull me backwards?

It's hard not to speculate on what the future holds for our daughter. Above might suggest that she is destined to become a Who from Whoville. Which in and of itself would not be a terrible thing as they appear to be an overly generous and curious people -- if a bit obsessed with Christmas.

Her future looks a bit muddier in the photo below, wherein it's easy to see her as someone who is currently between jobs. Either that, or we have a future chicken wing eating champion in our midst.

We are about as far from a casino as one can get these days. But don't presume we are without games of chance.

There is some general excitement after the baby has been fed because whoever is holding her has a very good shot of winning a free trip to the changing table. Accordingly, there is always the possibility that the diaper champ will be full and a rousing session of "Will it fit?" ensues. This is where you repeatedly close and open the handle while shaking the entire plastic bucket, silently saying a prayer and keeping one hand on the baby. It is one of the worst games in the house in terms of odds -- the diaper champ is always full.

But the most popular game in our non-licensed casino is the baby slot machine. You neither have to pull a lever, nor push a button. And once you're holding a baby, you're playing. The baby slot machine is based on Charlotte's current ability to roll through the emotions in a span of seconds. It's as is if a tiny, invisible hand is moving up and down in front of her mouth, while she changes her expression.

And the jackpot? It leaves you both smiling.



*More smiles to come, they are my Bigfoot right now -- capturing them on film has proved elusive.

Since I am woefully underinformed about the abilities and/or general characteristics of children, I tend to rely on Kate for the confirmation of facts before answering a question in regard to our daughter. She's basically the catch-all for potentially stupid answers -- the press secretary of our household.

But it's also exciting for me when Kate proactively shares thoughts on our child's potential development as she is at least six months to a year a head of me with regard to what's coming down the pipeline. I avoid the trailers for movies that I want to see and am crushed by spoilers, as such, I'm only on month two of our voluminous stack of baby preparation books because while I want to encourage proper development, part of me is still seeking the surprise of what will happen next.

But Kate's latest theory is one worth sharing. Last night she talked to me about how kids change and how much of how Charlotte looks and acts now isn't what she'll be like in the future. But Kate also said she's keeping an eye out for particular faces or reactions that seem like they will stick around.

The above face is one that I'm rooting for to stay. It says either, "what, I totally didn't break that..." or "yes, I will partake of your ice cream."

Babies have a lot of firsts -- all of which you want to capture on film and document in books -- as though you're a court stenographer. But last week marked a first for me.

I'm officially a dad. You can chalk it up in the books you're keeping on my progress. I delighted in taking embarrassing photos of my daughter that can be shown to her and potential boyfriends in the future.

A majority of these photo opportunities were during her first bath, which came as a direct result of her umbilical cord finally detaching from her belly button. For those of you that had innie in the belly button pool, please collect your winnings from the office secretary.

While the bath progressed without incident -- everybody got more water on them than they expected, but nobody was sad about it -- the towel portion of the evening may have been the highlight. Yup, that's a green pig towel. We're a full-service operation here at the Bender household.

Some days it would seem as though our house is just one step away from a fictional (as opposed to actual) children's story. Such as this morning, when the lady, the cat, and the baby all slumber in a happy pile.

If plastics are to be the future, we've made the decision that Charlotte should learn about them now. It seemed like the simplest way to introduce the concept of plastics was through the pacifier.

However, the pacifier -- depending on who you to talk to -- is either another in the line of great innovations or ways in which parents willfully neglect their children. And both camps have the literature to convince you of their point. As such, for the first month of her existence, the baby operated sans pacifier as indecision on the part of her parents meant that the baby corks stayed in the closet.

We've decided to take the same approach to pacifier advice as that offered in "Destructive Doggies: Solving Chewing & Digging Problems," a pamphlet that came with the doggie training of Charlie:

Provide your dog with stimulating chew toys, increased play and exercise, and perhaps even a second pet. Of course, give some extra thought to the solution of a second pet, since you could end up with two diggers instead of one.

When questioning decisions, Kate and I try to decide if it's going to result in a second digger. In other words, some solutions just create more problems.* But in this case, a pacifier was just a pacifier. Below you can see our daughter ruminating on our decision.

So far Charlie has been unable to convince Charlotte to help her dig holes in the backyard. But we've got our eye on the baby because once she starts crawling, the last thing we want is two diggers.

*For the record, I recognize that in order to come to grips with a decision of pacifiers, I considered our family policy on dog chew toys.

Since we can't wear pajamas all our life, Kate and I decided to crack out the formal wear in honor of Charlotte's first month. While it's not quite Blue Steel, I believe our daughter has found her first modeling face in the picture above -- we're calling it, "Confused Monkey."

The universe appears to be moving closer to our regularly scheduled broadcast.

Yesterday was Charlotte's four-week doctor's appointment and despite coming out of the gates in the 75 percentile for height and weight, genetics suggested she was a sprinter, not a marathon runner. At 10 pounds, 4 ounces, and 21 1/4 inches, she's now in the 85th percentile for weight and 50th percentile for height. Since Benders are naturally eaters, this is not surprising news to have a daughter in double digits.

She is well-fed. Perhaps not as well fed as the baby in our pediatrician's anecdote that he referred to as Godzilla. But she might be a Godzuki. Houdini (pictured above); however, is is still in the running to be Godzilla.

The doctor's office also featured her first shot outside the hospital -- meaning the first time that she was really aware of what was happening.

"Next time will be the tough one. Everybody will be crying," said the nurse.

"Daddy's tough. I don't cry," I told Charlotte, as the nurse used an alcohol swab to clean the baby's thigh. And I thought I was, right until the nurse said, "just a little pinch."

And then my heart broke a little. Charlotte first looked surprised and went very still. And then she exploded with a wail that made the room cold despite it being temperature-controlled. I felt a hitch in the back of my throat and suddenly crying at the next appointment didn't seem outside the realm of possibility.

In a few minutes, she was happy in Kate's arms (as we all would be) and losing the fight with sleep. But let's end this one on a happy note with the conclusion of the adventures of Godzilla and Godzuki.

The bottled was introduced this week to mixed success. We're going to chalk that up more to operator error than any difficulty on the part of the baby.

I've determined that giving a baby a bottle is a bit like trying to disarm a bomb, if that bomb was leaking breast milk rapidly all over your shirt and the shirt it was wearing. In addition, that bomb may issue tiny cries that break your heart and also attempt to knock your hands away frantically with it's own tiny hands. Meanwhile I, like Keanu Reeves, just sit there looking beautiful and helpless.

It's never a good thing to break one's wedding vows. Unless, it happens to be the earnest joke you slipped in between the vows that count.

The blog's name draws itself from one of my wedding vows to Kate. We stand a combined 10 feet, 4 inches. So, it's safe to assume that our expectations for under-sized children were gargantuan. Therefore, I promised that "our children would be small...but plucky." Kate, in turn, promised, "not to grow an inch."

She has held up her part of the bargain, but so far, through the incredible combination of our genetics, I have broken my vow. While certainly plucky, the baby is by no means small.

Sleep, that's where I'm a viking. -Ralph Wiggum, The Simpsons.

At times it can seem like the entire point of our existence is an attempt to get everybody in the house to sleep at once. The baby typically only needs to be held and rocked or changed or walked or burped or fed in order to sleep. The dog needs to burn off excess energy, via greeting guests, running in circles around the yard, or walking alongside the stroller, which has made its debut this week.

The cat sleeps with impunity. I believe this is because her weight is slowing the beat of her heart, leaving her in a semi-catatonic (no pun intended) state. As for Kate and I, there is the rub. I'm working when she's first sleeping. She's feeding the baby when I come to bed and then thereafter we usually steal a few hours when both of us are asleep.

In the early morning before the dog whines in her crate, the baby fusses in her crib, the cat emits an asthmatic wheeze, or Kate bumps into the edge of the bed on the way to the bathroom -- there is a still quiet. I would have never thought we would have spent so much of our waking day striving to get back to that moment.

I have never been a patient person, while my wife is someone who understands the joy of delaying gratification. But yet both of us are like children on Christmas morning, every morning, hoping to discover that our daughter has lost the last bit of her umbilical cord to reveal the most important news of the day -- whether she will go through life with an innie or outie belly button (the cord will not be featured in pictures as it resembles a piece of shriveled dry, bowtie pasta).

The other excitement around the cord falling off is that then Charlotte can be bathed. For right now, it is only sponge baths and cups of water over her head. While her default smell is that of new baby, she occasionally emits a bit of funk around the neck folds and armpits. Having lived with boys for many years, it is a funk that I know all too well.

Bath time is for both mom and dad according to the 1980's era baby care instructional video we watched as part of our pre-delivery classes at the hospital.

"It's good to wait to give your child a bath until at night when your husband can be home. This can be a good way for all of you to bond," suggested the video.

Until we can bathe her, I'll try to avoid bonding when I see my daughter in the office each morning.

At just over the two week mark of Charlotte's life, I believe this means we are officially qualified to take the next step -- offering up unsolicited parental advice. Now, considering the number of tips we've received both before and after her birth, you would think that I have little to share in the way of new or groundbreaking ideas. And you were probably right until this morning.

So, here is a simple piece of advice -- as always, the first one is free. Don't wash a dirty disposable diaper. Do not dry said diaper after it has been through the wash. Let's start with the first half of this new axiom. In fact, it might be good to take a step back and say that placing an open laundry basket next to the Diaper Champ was perhaps a bit overconfident. Particularly when diapers are being changed between the hours of 2 and 6 a.m.

However, the errant toss, much more costly than missing the waste basket, or simple survival-like quality of the velcro on the newborn diapers means that a disposable diaper went in with this morning's load. The scent free detergent and cold water was apparently enough to mask the smell; but the poop hit the dryer fan shortly thereafter.

Apparently the heat of both machines managed to bake in the smell and turn the dryer lint caustic. Now, when a disposable diaper sheds, it turns into the foul-smelling equivalent of a sticker that refuses to come off the bottom of a glass. So there I squatted in our basement, attempting to remove the flecks of soiled diaper from our dryer shield and failing. These are the moments we'll never get back.

*The diaper pictured above is one of about two dozen suspects. This case will go in the books as unsolved.

Everybody needs inspiration when they work. Some choose kitten posters, I opted for a daughter in a reclining chair at the foot of my desk.

The past few mornings have seen my tiny baby assistant asleep at the job. She tilts back happily, all open-mouthed and chuffling noises, as I bang away at the keyboard in my office.

This is a lamb-shaped chair that is furry and soft -- Charlie the dog still needs some convincing that is not a delightfully oversized toy. But for now, Charlie seems content to sniff Charlotte, wag her tail, and then slump against my leg. These are all good things.

Houdini the cat, having been informed that her services are no longer needed as my assistant, has landed on her ample side (her feet hidden beneath said weight). In addition to the two weeks severance, she still retains her part-time job laying on Kate's head while she naps in the morning.

Charlotte has taken my suggestion that my office is business casual to the extreme, often choosing to forgo pants in the workplace. I suggested that she at least follow her father's example and put on pjs. A note has been placed in her file. It is a reminder to her father to put on her pants in the morning.

Charlotte had a portrait session with her aunt. We've always been happy to have Katy in the family -- this is just an added bonus.

When one has a primarily home-bound existence, the arrival of the mail can be a big deal. There is the satisfying thunk of letters and Gymboree inserts (that corporation is relentless) hitting the metal base of the mail slot to the right of our door and the police knock of the mail carrier who is dropping off a package.

It is one thing to exist, it is another to get mail addressed to your name. And Charlotte Ann has been raking it in the first week-and-a-half of her life. She is not yet a clothes horse, but I'm glad she has the largest closet in the house.



She has already grown out of her first hat, which when we purchase a baby book, will be duly noted among her myriad accomplishments. Those include her first joke -- a smile followed by a poop -- and the ability to name 12 of the state capitals. I'm kidding, she knows 25.

The second outfit featured today is an ensemble from the pink collection. We are awash in pink from bubblegum to hot, and I'm happy to report that she looks cute in pink. We are calling this photo -- contentment.

There is a totem pole in any given house that ranks the priority of pets. This totem pole was simple to understand when Kate and I only had Houdini. The once-svelte, now plus-sized model of a cat, ruled our North End apartment in Boston. She sat atop the totem pole, prior to eating it.

Houdini even maintained her status as top pet (how is that not a reality show featuring pets that live in a house together and compete in daily challenges?) when Charlie the dog arrived after we moved to Kansas City, MO. It helped that she outweighed Charlie the puppy and that had a slight edge in intelligence -- recently locking herself in our closet notwithstanding.

But the totem pole has been reshaped again with the arrival of Charlotte the baby. Houdini has lost her top spot and Charlie has been relegated to the bottom. In fact, for all intents and purposes we are now operating with two completely separate totem poles, but since we value efficiency and are now on a budget to save the $700,000 it will cost to send Charlotte to Brown University -- one virtual totem pole will do.

But this week has been partly about introducing our pets to their new child overlord. Houdini was first, given her elevated stature and resemblance to the oversized matriarchs that ruled primitive societies.



Houdini offered up the reaction that one would expect of a feline expecting to be in charge. Kate sat down on my office chair and stroked the side of the animal that lay covering half of my desk. Houdini briefly sniffed the new person in Kate's arms, before rubbing her head and nose against our swaddled baby. This was repeated twice. Now that Houdini has satisfactorily claimed Charlotte -- she has moved to a policy of nonviolent direct action -- passively ignoring her. Houdini continues to sleep on Kate's head, unwilling to recognize the winds of change.



As for Charlie the dog, her introduction was more measured. After some time in the backyard, Charlie was quarantined in the exercise room. A dance of sniffing, sitting, and treating occurred as Charlie was allowed to smell Charlotte over and through a baby gate. About 20 minutes later, we let her into the living room. At the end of the evening, the following scene played out. Moments after this, baby and dog were fast asleep on either side of me. Charlie is apparently just glad to be picked for the game, even if she is being picked last. She will however eat a red, rubber kickball if given the opportunity.