Sometimes on Saturday, after spending the morning figuring out how to keep our hiney dry on our rainy walk, we like to take refuge amongst some cozy blankets with our beloved Froggy and whisper very important messages into his ear.
All posts in Saturday SlobberLove
Sometimes on Saturday, after a mid-morning Frisbee throw with our Dad in the school field across the street, we like to come home and ride our adrenalin rush by engaging in a champion Blanket War with our mother, who, although can hold her own with the tackling and swooshing the blanket over our head without notice, will never be a match for our acrobatics and shape shifting.
When In Doubt, Roll Up In a Ball,
Ed the Elusive
Sometimes on Saturday, after our early morning Walk-PeePee-Doodie-Greenie-Breakfast routine that is followed by a short yet productive battle with several scurvy squirrels, we find that our bones are frozen through to our core. And when this happens we like to spend the afternoon burrowed under our favorite comforter, snoring, only to be awakened by our beloved mother calling us to supper.
Let There Be Blankets,
Sometimes on Saturday, after the new, gigantic Rottweiler-ey looking dog in the neighborhood nearly gives us a stroke while we are in the middle of our first bowel movement of the day, we like to think back on the time in the wilderness as a strong and strapping Pioneer Man—peeing in strange bushes, supervising our parents chopping wood, chasing bugs the size of small buildings and overall, just being an outdoor badass—because when we do this we feel a bit better about ourselves and we believe our mother when she says we’re a good boy and we shouldn’t feel bad about being afraid, that she was petrified of that Clydesdale-sized Rottweiler too.
Here’s To Sticking Together,
Mister Kind of Courageous
Sometimes on Saturday, after a fairly relaxing morning spent begging for more Greenies and scratching our privates, our serenity is interrupted by the sound of a bee INSIDE OF THE HOUSE. And when this happens we instinctually engage our battlefield experience by crouching behind the couch and watching the action as our mother runs around like a lunatic shooing the flying thing outside where it and us will be safe, using an old issue of Oprah Magazine.
There’s No Rest For the Weary,
Ted the Terrified Terrier