Sometimes on Saturday, after a visit to the vet and many excruciating hours of waiting to see what the growth is on our shoulder, we like to slow down a bit and gaze into the eyes of our beloved parents and think about all the things we’re grateful for: rolling in worms, trotting along on the walks our mom takes us on, special slices of turkey breast in our dinner, barking until our vocal cords become weak, laying in the sun like we’re a sausage roasting in a fire pit, belly rubs, licking our dad’s feet, chewing on blankets, greeting our mother when she comes in from going to the store, hogging the bed, prospecting for ground scores, sniffing, smelling and exploring, examining other dog’s poop, our precious Sharkey, running on the beach with our dad before anyone else in the world has woken up, airing out our privates with our legs wide open as we fall into slumber, road trips and those final moments of the day when we stay downstairs with our mom as she closes the house up and eventually says,”Come on, Little, let’s go snuggle. It’s time for bed.”
The Beagle/Terrier Mix Who Could
Sometimes on Saturday, after we’ve had our morning Greenie with a kibble and cottage cheese breakfast chaser, we like to get a jump on the action by haranguing our parents into playing an early game of Throw My Toy Nine Thousand Times Until You Tell Me To Go Away.
So I Got That Goin’ For Me,
President of Persistent
Sometimes on Saturday, after an upsetting melee with a wasp, we like to keep within an inch of our mother at all times for the rest of the afternoon, knowing that she is our best bet for safety in case there is another hideous insect attack.
Spare a Hug?
Tony the Tender Terrier Mix
Sometimes on Saturday, after an early morning pee-pee expedition that forces our mother to take us outside at 5 AM, we like to contemplate how lucky we are to have someone like her, who is willing to stand in the pitch black wearing her bath robe, waiting for us to do our business.
Yours In Gratitude,
Sometimes on Saturday, after we’ve taken our early morning walk and participated in an afternoon lounge with our mother, we become unexpectedly on high alert when our parents announce that the garage door opener stops working creating a questionable situation when it comes to our food stash. Will we ever be able to eat again? we wonder to ourselves. But it turns out that there is nothing to poopie in our pants about because our concerned parents turn into detectives and talented garage door openers, thereby ensuring that we will be fed forever.
Can I Get a Hallelujah?
Glen of the Grateful