Okay, this is my last letter because in a couple of days you’ll be here to give me some relief from Camp Grand-Ma-Pa, and boy do I need it.
Today grandma got it in her head that the place looks like gypsies live in it so they are cleaning. Can’t a pup just catch a day of naps? Holy smokes! They already have that blasted vacuum out and it’s staring at me, getting ready to roar. I hate that thing. Whatever happened to a nice quiet broom?
Grandpa got out the feather duster that looks like one of those bunnies only without the cool ears, so I had to kill it again. It just won’t stay dead. Then when grandma was done washing floors, she blocked them off so I couldn’t even go in and do a slip ‘n slide on them. These two have a very questionable sense of humor!
Grandma and grandpa are okay, but come pick me up soon. I miss tearing through our big house and jumping on your heads in the morning. Grandpa doesn’t think that’s funny at all. Poor old guy!