There are two major works in the canon of Western art in which the eyes of the subject seem to follow you wherever you go. One, of course, is the justly famous Mona Lisa and the other is the slightly less well known Ruprecht The Rooster.

Ms. Lisa lives in the Louvre over in Paris and Ruprecht lives with me, adorning the window that I sit by each morning to eat my breakfast.

Scholars and art historians have marveled at the subtlety of the Da Vinci painting, how Ms. Lisa can look at turns sad, pensive, or wistful and how she appears to be looking at you no matter where you stand in the room with her.

Ruprecht, on the other hand, has but one mood.

He is peeved.

He is seriously peeved.

He is so seriously peeved that just looking at him makes me laugh.

And, just like Ms. Lisa, it doesn't matter where you stand in my kitchen, it appears that he is watching you.

But, unlike the enigmatic woman of the Renaissance, Ruprecht in not an individual of shifting, subtle moods. His main purpose in life is to send massive waves of peevicity directly at you. He is The Master of the Universe when it comes to being peeved.

I first saw Ruprecht last year in the window of a craft store in the little village where I shop. There, amidst the pottery, the paintings, the hand woven tapestries, and the sculptures was Ruprecht, letting the world know just exactly how he felt.

It was Love At First Sight.

Each week I'd go into town to do my groceries and I'd make a little detour to look at Ruprecht. I adored him. There was something about the overwhelming crankiness of him that made me grin every time I looked at him, but I couldn't justify buying a very goofy piece of stained glass when there were so many practical places to put our money.

And then, one day when I went to pay my respects to Ruprecht, he was gone.

Gone.

Clearly someone else had seen the marshmallow heart under the peeved exterior and made him their own.

I regretted it hadn't been me.

A few months later it was Christmas. The spousal unit slid a large box to me and told me to open it carefully, that it contained something fragile. I slid aside the wrapping, burrowed through the styrofoam peanuts, and there was Ruprecht, every bit as ticked off as I remembered him. You could have knocked me over with a feather.

So now, every time I sit down to eat at the kitchen table, or happen to glance towards his window, there's Ruprecht being more peeved than you could ever believe a small rooster could be. And yes, he still makes me grin which tells you I'm far more easily amused than I should be.

It goes beyond Ruprecht and his massive charm, of course. Ruprecht reminds me that although the spousal unit and I have been together a very long time, and that things between us will wax and wane, I have the great good fortune to be married to someone who still hears me and understands my silly heart.