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Sausage with Legs

When my brother Rodney was in town visiting a few weeks ago, he commented on how tubby my dog has gotten. I balked and blamed it on all of the hair. Because the dirty hippie dog seriously needed a haircut.

But then I shaved all of the hair off of her (all the while she had a slow gaseous leak caused mainly by the tranquilizers I forced down her) and Lo! Behold! My dog is still tubby!

She probably only put on one or two pounds this winter, but that is a huge deal on a 10-pound dog.

I found some maps to city dog parks and this weekend Steve and I took her out twice.

She was so excited merely by the mention of the P-word (New Rule: no one actually says “park” until we have driven to said “park”) that she was whining so much I was sure she would pass out. The excitement! Of a park! With grass! And Birds!

There were birds, yes, and I suppose when I instruct her to “chase the ducks” I shouldn’t expect her to read my mind.

How is she to know I didn’t mean “chase the ducks until they are in Canada no matter how loudly anyone is calling your name to get your lardy butt back here right now”?