All posts in Saturday SlobberLove

Saturday SlobberLove

goodboySometimes on Saturday, after we are woken by the sound of a violent crow fight in the yard next door, we like to keep the rest of the day simple by doing the things we love best: barking, drinking water, barking some more, finding new and revolutionary lounging positions, barking in low tones as opposed to high and staring at our mother with our big brown eyes while she reads on the deck, hoping she can tell that we appreciate her existence in a way that is inexplicable even though we rarely listen to a goddamn word she says.

Ain’t It Great To Be Alive,
Rudy Resplendent

Saturday SlobberLove

loungerSometimes on Saturday, when the household is quite peaceful and our parents are either reading or sweeping or organizing and the wind is wafting through the windows like a lady that calls out to us, showing us where the Greenies are, we like to get our loungey groove on in our favorite chair and remind ourselves how often things are just right.

Yours In Having a Bitchen Summer,
Laid Back Larry

Saturday SlobberLove

praySometimes on Saturday, after barely enduring the previous night’s 4th of July horrors, we like to garner solace from our beloved Orangey as we try to wipe the terrifying kabooms, kerplops and kabloweys from our weary little mind.

I Surrender,
Warren the Wiped-Out Warrior

Saturday SlobberLove

helloSometimes on Saturday, when we’re attempting to have a snuggly morning by ourselves surrounded by a half dozen of our favorite toys, we are involuntarily summoned downstairs to witness our parents hooting and hollering at the television like insane people and when we dare to come down from the landing we discover that all the hullabaloo has something to do with a person named Serena Williams and a team named Brazil and, quite honestly, we feel the need to keep our distance.

Hold Yer Horses Sports Fans,
Senor Sanity

Saturday SlobberLove

gnawSometimes on Saturday, after a fairly uneventful morning and afternoon, we like to see how far we can shove froggy into our mouth, making sure that our left cheek doesn’t explode like a piƱata.

Very Truly Yours,
Charles of the Chomp