Rosie at the Window
Oil on Wood
When I come downstairs in the morning, Rosie is often outside the front door waiting patiently for the day to begin. She is probably wishing I would get a move on. Put on my running shoes, pick up the leash, a few treats, the house key, and head out for our morning walk. But I prefer to think that what is going through her head is:
"I love you, I love you, I love you, you wonderful human, you."