When I was in high school, draft dodgers protested the Viet Nam war by yelling, "Hell no, I won't go!" at peace demonstrations. Polly wasn't even a twinkle in her daddy's eye then, but that's what she's crying today.
Mr. P. came home from work and reported that Jack, the guy who gave us Polly 3 years ago because his dachsund hated her, now wants her back. His son moved out and took the dachsund with him, and big, strong Jack wants a little dog to cuddle again.
But Mr. P. told him, "No way. Polly is the wife's favorite dog. You're not getting her back."
I said, "Jack couldn't wait to get rid of her before, and now he wants her back? Oh, no. No, no, no!"
While we discussed this, Polly watched nervously, her big bug eyes sending us messages like, "Please, Mom. Please, Dad. I can't go back there. Don't make me. You can't make me."
As soon as there was a break in the kitchen action (supper preparation), I scooped her up and kissed her and told her, "Don't worry, Polly. You're my baby now and you'll always be my baby."