To say that Sophie is slightly spoiled is akin to saying Charlie Sheen is slightly out of his gourd. It's ok, I'll admit it, without shame or excuse. What can I say? She's my girl.
However, one of our rituals is probably a bit over-the-top, even for the spoiled-dog designation. I can't even remember how this started, but if I don't follow through, Sophie is relentless. It goes something like this (and sorry for the crappy lighting and even crappier blue carpeting--this is part of the house yet to be remodeled).
Sophie turns up the big-brown-eyes.
Sophie rolls over pitifully. She is clearly at death's door.
Sophie insists I check her over while making sad-puppy-face.
Sophie doesn't "walk" anything off. She goes directly from not having the strength to stand to her version of the cyclone in The Wizard of Oz.
Sophie Cyclone continues. I think I see Auntie Em!
Finally, Sophie stops. She is back to normal.
Pay no attention to the woman behind the curtain. And her little dog, too.