Something tells me that Sophie is going to have a hard time once the baby arrives.

Molly, on the other hand, having found a special treasure left behind by my neighbor’s toddler, is pacified.

My sister brought Rosie down to Nashville for a short but action-packed and dog-centric visit. It was exhausting. Just watching them wrestle non-stop for 72 hours was exhausting. I’m beginning to understand how people so easily let their lives revolve around their children!

A few favorite shots:

Pictures of the whole weekend are in this Flickr photo set. Please note that all grammatical errors are intentional. That are just the way Rosie and Molly be talking on their baycation!

[Point of clarification: A "booze cube" would be one of the whiskey-soaked ice cubes my dad (known to Rosie as "Kenny G") feeds Rosie (known to Dad as "Rosie Posie Pudding Pup") directly from his drink. When they do not come from a Manhattan, these ice cubes are known as "ice cookies."]

So we have some bona-fide white trash living next door. Big time.

Anyway, their kids are kinda cute, if snaggle-toothed and dirty. The boy, Tyler, is afraid of dogs and yet loves them at the same time. He will occasionally go in the backyard (where Molly is on a tie-out) and basically tease her — yell for her, and then when she comes close, he’ll scream and jump back, out of the reach of her tether.

It drives Molly bonkers. She gets insanely riled up, then, so of course even if the kids wanted to pet her, she’d be jumping all over the place and going berserk.

Once, Molly actually pulled this huge, thick, foot-long metal screw out of the ground from yanking at the end of her tether so much. It was muddy out, but still.

One time, the kid’s mom is yelling at him from an upstairs window (told you they were white trash) to stop teasing the dog, because remember that black dog in Arizona that bit him because he was teasing it so much?

Great, that’s just awesome.

Then today, I see Molly going ballistic and running in circles, because the kids are out there screaming for her. She must have made a break for him, because suddenly I hear the kid screaming “HELP! HELP!” and the little girl squealing and crying. I run outside, to discover that Molly has broken the plastic clasp on her collar and is over by the kids, running around on their deck. Not jumping on them or biting or anything, mind you.

So I yell at the kid (before now I’ve been super nice because I’m pretty sure he has a crappy life, and, um, why isn’t he ever in school? It has been this way since we both moved in, in October).

We live on a highway. If these brats tease my dog loose and she runs into the street, there is going to be hell to pay.

Not to mention, that collar was from some ridiculous dog boutique on Armitage and was really cute!

CORRECTION: Apparently the correct term for this family is “hick redneck.” “Hillbillies” don’t know any better, but “hick rednecks” do. Thank you to my Alabama-born friend Sonia Roselli for explaining the proper terminology.