A dog’s life

Random Augustus Rex thoughts . . . .

  Behold, I stand at the door and whine.  It’s Biblical!  Especially when my dad goes to work each morning, I hope for him to hear me even as he gets in the car.  And he says he can.


I like everybody.  That’s clear from my day at Webster on Friday.  I’m told I’d be a good therapy dog.


I really, really, really like to tug at my leash when my dad walks me.  He doesn’t move fast enough for me.


My new haircut is sharp.  Except I wanted the groomer to leave me a beard, and she just left peach fuzz on my chin.  We’ll fix that next time.


The ride through Forest Park on Friday afternoon was deeee-vine, mostly because I got to feel the wind on my face.  I think Dad, who was driving, was taking pictures too.


Apparently I’m so cute the neighbors visiting across the street (they are from somewhere called Rhode Island) decided they needed to walk over and meet me.


I have now figured out that I like sleeping beside Dad in his big bed at night.  I also don’t like tile or brick.  That damn alley bothered me Friday, and Dad’s kitchen bothers me every day.  I do like having my ears scratched, for sure.


Dad says he took all my info to the vet today. I don’t like vets right now, because the last time I saw one he took away part of my manhood.  But Dad tells me I’ll like Dr. Brad or Dr. Rachel when I meet then next year for my annual check-up.


It’s Friday evening, and I’m worn out from my big day today.  I’m going to sleep on the Persian carpet in Dad’s office for a while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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