"You whippersnappers turn off that racket. In my day, pups respected their elders. Back then, we didn't have a bed in a sunbeam. We didn't even have a sunbeam. We had to make do with the reflection of the sun off the moon for warmth and you didn't hear us complaining."
You may see Kitty Deschanel carrying Biscuit down the street, her having refused to budge after insisting on taking a walk. Dinnertime requires patience. Biscuit demands to guard her bowl, letting out her version of a bark - a ferocious "MEEH" - whenever someone steps too close, which includes other rooms of the house. She eats her kibbles one at a time and often not at all, inciting great worry from her parents and requiring that they prepare something better, then hand feed it to her. The fresh salmon she enjoyed yesterday? Biscuit has lost interest in it and will now resume her hunger strike.
Roll up the rugs if it is sprinkling outside because house-trained Biscuit is not willing to get wet. Wrap her in a blanket because she's shivering violently. She will take a moment to enjoy the warmth, then throw off the blanket and glare at you, shivering again. Then she will shake her head for no reason other than to spatter you with her drippy eye juices. It's disgusting.
What's your crazy neighbor doing outside, yelling and waving her arms? She has come to chase off the ravens circling over Biscuit, who is staring dumbly up at them.
She survived a near-death experience. At a million years old (or possibly 18), you can still see the sweet rescue dog when you look into her cloudy eyes, the little Biscochita who danced on her hind legs and snuggled on every lap. You can't help but forgive her bad attitude and hope for another million years with your little grouch.
P.S.
Biscuit is not the only grouch in our house: The Grump Goes to Santa Fe
2/11/23 update: RIP, sweet Biscuit. You were a good dog. We love you forever.