Delicious!

Who doesn't love a good mid-day treat?  I will never turn one down.  Even if it's not edible.  I mean, really.  Eat first, ask questions later, am I right?!

The Pack

My Posse

From left to right:

Luna.  My soulmate.  She's kind of a bitch, especially at bed time, but she's the sunlight to my darkness.  The BBQ sauce to my ribs.  The peas to my carrots for all you Forrest Gump fans.  I play hard to get to keep her interested.  You know chicks only stick around for the "challenge" so I can't let her know how much I really love her.

Me.  The cool one.

Jack.  The one who needs a prescription to Xanax.  This dude is wound so tight I'm surprised he hasn't had multiple heart attacks by now.  He thinks he's in charge of everyone and what we do.  He's not, but he's kind of psycho about herding everyone around and keeping track of us.  When my human yells at me from another room, he'll come trotting after me as if he has any authority at all.  Complete suck-up.

Dexter.  The weirdo.  I don't even...look, the guy seems pretty happy most of the time so whatever.  But he is definitely living on a different plane of existence than the rest of us.

You Can't Pick Your Relatives

This is my "brother," Dexter.  He's "special."  After spending a day in the car followed by 4 days in Chicago with him and my other "brother," Jack, I'm more convinced than ever that I'm the smartest dog in this family.

I'm Over It

I'm being forced to ride in a car with my "brothers," Jack and Dexter to Chicago today.  As you can see, Dexter is a seat hog.  I'm bored by this whole thing already.

I've Been Duped

"Let's go for a ride!" she said.  "It'll be fun!" she said.

I'm not sure what her idea of fun is, but getting a thermometer up the poop shoot isn't on MY list.

Manscaping

Today is an important day in my regular weekly schedule: Spa Day.  Of course, I see my stylist every week for a bath and blow-dry.  A guy needs to keep himself freshly manscaped at all times, am I right? Apparently, I'm alone in my personal hygiene philosophy because I get strange looks at the dog park.  Those baboons wouldn't know the difference between a proper conditioner and their own drool so I'm comfortable in my superiority.

My human, on the other hand, is always encouraging me to "go play" and to "run with the other dogs."  Puhlease.  I wouldn't debase myself by running through dirt and god forbid, mud, just to "fit in."  I am perfectly fine enjoying a light afternoon breeze lying on top of the picnic table where I belong.

And can I just say, Boxers?  Please do us all a favor and carry a proper handkerchief with you to keep your drool under control.  Nothing ruins my day more than to get home to find dried drool all over the top of my head.  Frankly, I find it offensive and completely uncalled for.

Hi.  My name is Boomer (I'm the good looking one in the photo above).  On the left is my human.  Her name is...you know, I'm not sure.  I call her many things: Human, Starvation Enforcer, The Chick Who Picks Up My Poop, Jailer.  I trained her to respond to pretty much anything.

Me? I'm just an overly awesome pooch who is forced to suffer through life's indignities.  Most of them shoved upon me by my human.

For example, this photo.  Clearly she thinks that by situating herself closer to me, it somehow makes her look better.  It's ridiculous.  I mean, look at me.  I was more interested in staring at the SAND than I was by this forced "cuddle" and pose.  I keep this one hanging by my desk for amusement.

Sadly for you, it's time for my afternoon nap.  Until next time...