Sometimes on Saturday, after a short bout with the runs and a tummy ache that threatened our ability to sleep as soundly as a sedated possum like we usually do, we like to celebrate our full recovery with a short cheerleading routine, wearing our favorite cheerleading hat, regardless of the fact that the team we’re cheering for has gone straight into the crapper.
Gimme an L! Gimme an O! Gimme an S! Gimme an E! What’s that spell?
Beauregard Bullhorn
Sometimes on Saturday, after a morning spent barking from the balcony as if we were the manifestation of espresso and General Patton combined, we like to take a little break from being a mental patient and indulge in a little romantic body twisting on some of our favorite blankets, making sure to flash our most snuggly expression toward the one who’s been screaming SHUT-UP! in our general direction for the better part of the last two hours.
Please Forgive Me I Know Not What I Do,
Bobby Bow-Wow
Sometimes on Saturday, after a nice walk that involves only one unpleasant run-in with a bulldog as unpredictable as Mike Tyson, we like to have a little Gratitude Festival all on our own while at the same time sending out our sincerest Don’t Worry Be Careful thoughts to all those horses running for their lives around a track in Kentucky and as we think of those gigantic horsies we are overcome with a sense of feeling lucky, not only because our mother gave us one Greenie after breakfast and then gave us another one in the middle of the afternoon for no reason other than we’re “so handsome”, but because we know beyond a shadow of a doubt that when they were handing out cards to dogs roaming the city, lost and scared and on their own, our most fortunate day came the moment the person who would become our mother saw our brave little portrait on the Miracle Rescue website and said to the man who would one day become our father, “Hey, look at how handsome this little guy is.”
I Just Want To Always Snuggle, Is That So Wrong?
Leonard Large Heart
Sometimes on Saturday, after a violent early morning kerfuffle with a flying insect the size of Nova Scotia, we get frozen in Wasp Face for the rest of the day and no matter how hard we try the only thing that brings us solace is being a half an inch from one of our parents at all times.
Dive Bomber Winged Things Have Gotsta Go,
Terrified Terrier Extraordinaire
Sometimes on Saturday, after a long morning watching our parents pack up the car with everything that ever existed, we finally get a little quality time in the spotlight where we make the most of a nice chin rest, some sturdy arms to to make sure we don’t go hurling out the window and approximately ninety gazillion trillion odorous trees that we expertly take in through our two infinitely waftful nostrils.
Ain’t Nuthin’ But a Sniff Thang,
DJ Dazzle Dizzy Whiffer Schnizzer
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