Sometimes on Saturday, after our morning is bombarded with tree trimmers and construction workers and noisy pedestrians walking to the beach, we like to take our place on our especially high perch just to make sure that everything stays in order.
Can I See Your I.D. Please?
Sergeant Silky Ears
Sometimes on Saturday, after a tummy ache interrupts our morning fun, we like to spend the rest of the day staring at our mother, knowing that as long as she is within two feet from us, we will be a-okay.
Stan Stomach Rumble
Sometimes on Saturday, after a pre-dawn walk that still smothers us with temperatures that feel suppressive, we like to spend the rest of the afternoon resting our chin on whatever surface will have it, whatever surface will hold our sweaty brow and our sweaty armpits and our sweaty nostrils until this heat wave passes.
If You Need Me I’ll Be In the Walk-In Freezer,
Dan of the Dehydrated
Sometimes on Saturday, after a luscious morning spent lounging in bed as if we were royalty, we like to spend the early afternoon noshing on our best friend Sharkey, perfecting our chew abilities and communing with our inner terrier chomp master until we become slightly faint and delirious from the pleasure of it all.
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