In silence, of course, since your Owner put you back in your place, bitch, and both your knee and your head are bent to the floor. But why are you still here looking at my blog, bitch? Lose your way, can’t find your razor to shave some of that scraggly hair off your body? When I start hanging at the Jazz club this summer and taking photos you can pretend you know me beyond our official titles. You can even pretend we still friends, though we both know your Owner chooses your friends and social time, and evidently you don’t make healthy social choices according to your assigned role. Do you get public feeding times, bitch?