Life with the Dowager Countess

After her walk, the dog climbs the stairs as quickly as her stubby little body is capable, her tiny haunches and curly tail wiggling up to the landing.

But I get the feeling she used to live on the second floor, because that's where she stops, standing expectantly, ears alert and nose pointed to the door.

But we live on the third floor, you see. Every day I walk past her and call her to follow me, and her look of exasperation and offended dignity is truly something to behold, as if, by living on the third floor, I am the one who has made the mistake.