I didn't do it

Really, look at me.  I'm just that sweel little warm, brown, fuzzy puppy that rode home from Louisiana in your lap.  I'm not a b.d. (bad dog).  Now, look Mom, just because I've learned to climb over the baby gate on one side of the kitchen and then push aside the stand alone gate when you leave doesn't mean I'm a b.d.  Come on, give me credit.  I thought it was pretty smart.  And I didn't do anything while I was loose in the house. 

 

No, it was that silly little Blossom dog who went under the gate after I got out and then she proceeded to shred your Sunday paper.  So don't blame me for that.  She was also the one that did the poop in the dining room, I know it was her, she did it! It's not my fault, I didn't do it!

Our New Way to Travel

Our human mom got a new car.  But, dog-gone it, she makes us ride in a crate in the back.  No more breathing on the windows and piling into her lap while she drives, or so she says.  We'll see how long this crate thing lasts.

Poor Sawyer

I felt so bad for Sawyer last night.  I had school and couldn't get out of the office a little early like I usually do, so I was on a tight schedule to get home, let the dogs out and get back out the door.  I fed the dogs because I never know what time I will get home and I feel bad if it is late and they haven't eaten.  Then I decided to eat two pieces of cold pizza, just in case class ran late (which it did, glad I ate the pizza).  I was standing at the sink, eating the pizza; all the dogs, except Sawyer, were eating.  He was standing in the laundry room by the door into the garage.  I asked him what he was doing, and he just looked at me and wagged his tail.  The scene continued for a minute or two and then he began to whine.  He has a soft whine, but it is a very sad little whine.  Then I realized what he wanted...he wanted to go for a walk.  He had been looking up at the dryer the whole time he was standing there - his harness and the lead was on top of the dryer.  Then I felt so bad because I knew there would be no walk for him.  I felt like a real bad doggie-mama when I put them in the kitchen when I left a few minutes later.  Poor Sawyer, he is such a sweet-hearted dog and he just wanted a walk.

Sawyer loves to run the fence when the neighbor's dogs are out.  When I tell him to "leave it" or to "get away from the fence"  he always gives me this look.  I think he is saying, "Aw Ma, do I have to?  Don't you understand - there are dogs on the other side of our fence!"

A Dog's Simple Sunday

In today's post on Small Simple Things I didn't mention what the dogs were doing.  The girls curled up this morning and settled in for a little nap, just a simple thing.

And where were the boys while the girls were snoozing so soundly?  Sacked out on the sofa, after all they are sofa sleepers!

I am not a dog

I don't know why everyone thinks I'm a dog.  Okay, I know I have four short little legs and I walk on all four and I just happen to have a body shaped like these other creatures who really are dogs.  But I am not a dog.  Look into my face, look at my eyes.  Don't you see, I'm not a dog.

I am Baylee, the beautifully elegant ... well, I don't know what I am, but I am not a dog.  

If these other creatures were not here I know that my life would be so different.  For one thing, I would not have to sleep in the kitchen with that Sawyer boy-dog.  I would have my own little crate next to my human Mama's bed.  And I'm sure I would not have to eat that kibble food, although it really isn't too bad when it is mixed with some sweet potatoes or fresh veggies. Plus, I would not have to tolerate the wild playing and rough housing that goes on between the creatures.  Do you really think I enjoy having you pull on my ears and roll me around?  Enough of that nonsense!

And that Bentley boy-dog, good grief, he will not leave me alone.  I know he just adores me, but I really get tired of his flirting and what is with that trying to jump on my back.  Really, guy, I'm spayed and not interested in that stuff.  Thank goodness my Mama doesn't crate me with him.  He just can't leave me alone.  He is a dog, I am not.

The only itsy-bitsy thing that might make me be like a dog is that I love the trash.  If I find a bag waiting by the door to be taken out, it is all mine!  Rip, rip, rip and it is all out and over the floor!  Mmmm, garbage. But my fondness of trash is just my little secret.  Oh, did I mention that I love to chase cats, too.  But I am not a dog!