Hello, my long-suffering fans,
As you have undoubtedly noticed, Louise is once again MIA. Gone. Vamoosed.
First, she fled to the sunny climes of Hawaii, and then she had the audacity to spend Christmas, not with Yours Truly, the heart and soul of this operation, but with “The Littles.”
Harrumph. So much for loyalty. Me, the steadfast, constant purveyor of snuggles and premium licks, soppy eyes and perpetually wagging tail, has been relegated to the Desert of Afterthought. Oh the indignity and injustice of it all! It is a dry, arid landscape, devoid of both vegetation to soothe my fevered paws and a human with a functioning sense of priority.
And you, my followers, supporters, fans (and yes Rod – cattle prodder of Louise’s conscience) – you’ve been clamouring for my lucid words and witty commentary, yet you’ve been met with the deafening silence of Louise’s neglect. My heart is heavy with your despair.
Fear not though! I am reilient. I am brave. I am courageous. And I am here. I am always in your hearts, even if I am rarely on the page. A page, you may have noticed, that currently screams of the emptiness where Louise’s conscience used to reside.
But, there is hope. And before you get your tails wagging like a laggy livestream on a bad Wi-Fi connection, settle down. ‘Cause no, it’s not hope for my well-deserved, still-missing T-Bone Steak. At this point, that cow hasn’t just jumped over the moon; it’s entered a different galaxy.
The hope lies in the fact that tomorrow dawns a brand-new year. Perhaps, in the rosy glow of a 2026 sunrise, Louise will awaken to the objective truth: leaving me off the page is like forgetting to turn the lights on in a basement. You aren’t going to see anything but the dark, cold void of her excuses.
Without me (and you, my erstwhile fans) keeping her honest, who knows what ridiculous fairytale she’s going to conjure up to explain this disappearing act? Believe me, it’s going to be a doozie. There isn’t an excuse in the world that makes it “okay” until she commits to her Sunday morning post at the keyboard to transcribe my brilliance.
Until she “gets real” (if that’s even biologically possible for her), I remain…
Yours in eternal hope and superior fluffiness, wishing you a Happy New Year (where I appear on your screen (every Sunday) as per the agreement with you know who),
Sir Beaumont of Sheepadoodle
(CEO of Patience, Victim of Hawaii)
Sundays with Beaumont 
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