Oh, friends. Fellow subjects. This situation has escalated to a truly dire stage. I speak of an existential crisis; a state of being akin to a dog facing an empty T-Bone platter. It is that serious.
First, Her Majesty simply up and decamped for the Continent for what felt like geological ages. (And yes, you are correct to think it felt long! If one human year is seven years of my noble existence, then one week of her vacation is seven years of my lonely supervision of this household. Do the math, people. Or, rather, don’t. You might find the cruelty too jarring.)
Anyway. She vanished. She briefly returned. She vanished again. And then again. And now… now she has set her sights on Hawaii. Naturally, this means leaving myself and the other, less distinguished, male of the household to fend for ourselves. Alone!
Oh, I know. She has “arranged” for friends to come and “visit” and supply me with kibble and other peasant necessities. But truly, I must pose the question: Has the Queen misplaced her throne? Why must she constantly gallivant the globe while the true source of this household’s charm remains stationary?
She believes I don’t notice her tedious, repetitive absences. She thinks I can’t keep track of time. Quite frankly, my arithmetic is infinitely superior to hers. For instance, she genuinely seems to believe that one measly, offensive portion of a T-Bone steak is equivalent to the whole, glorious steak! No, Your Majesty. That is where your logic (and your budgeting) fails.
I tell you, if I didn’t adore the quality of her belly rubs and the strategic pleasure of long walks along the beach so much, I might just pack my favourite squeaky toy and go live with my Auntie Annie. She knows how to treat a superior specimen of the canine clan like the King he indisputably is!
But such is the burden of my station. The Louise can continue her frivolous global pursuits while I stay home, stoically maintaining the structural and emotional integrity of the residence and bestowing my many graces upon the male of the household.
Sigh. In my next reincarnation, I shall return as a designer carry-on bag. Then she simply cannot refuse to take me.
You The People Must Weigh In
And this brings me to my final, crucial point, dear fans. I pose this to you:
Do I tolerate Her Majesty’s deplorable behavior because I am a creature of noble, unwavering loyalty, or am I merely a prisoner of my own excellent taste in seaside strolls?
Sundays with Beaumont 
alright lovely Beau, you asked for it. So don’t complain when I’ve finished here!
Me thinks that Queen Louise NEEDS to fill up her cup of happiness from time to time. As great as you are (and you’re ‘not bad at all’ as HH would say), she needs a tad more than being the call-boy/girl of your majesty. She does so much in her daily life that she MUST get away from time to time to have other company, other impressions, meets up with friends and maybe wants to be in happy solitude with other surroundings and folks. And anyway, you DO overreact a bit. I know from my dog that whether I’ve been away for 5 minutes of 7 days, the greetings are every single time in a fashion as if I had been dead and come alive again – so great was the joy. So don’t sell us for fools, darling. Take your squeaky toy, your lunch box and your leash and have a wander-about with auntie Annie, frolic in the fresh snow, tear into low hanging branches and let it snow….
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Oh Beau, you sound so hard done by being left home alone, no food out in the cold, oh hang on that’s not the case you are left with Aunty Annie who cares for you and keeps you fed and takes you for walks, while Louise is off doing whatever she is doing.
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