In Chicago we get all of the seasons… and the longest is definitely winter. Or maybe it just seems that way. Either way, we’re well into March and there’s a lot of snow on the ground.
I think it’s rather pretty! My Frye boots would disagree. They are covered in salt residue and could use a summer vacation for sure.
(Our little Monster loves the snow. He thinks he’s a snow-dog *that should be a breed*)
In other news, the Husband and I really want to watch The Bible, which is being shown on the History channel in 2 hour increments for the next few weeks. Unfortunately, we don’t have cable.
And we couldn’t find the episode online.
So we had no choice but to ‘steal’ it. Or borrow it. Yeah, let’s go with that, I prefer the term ‘borrow.’
I think God will understand, right?
(I mean, it’s far better TV-watching than the Millionaire Matchmaker shows that I’ve been occupying my time with lately….)
Isn’t it great when your dog is wonderfully well-behaved and doesn’t attack the runners/strollers/skateboarders/other dogs/anything-that-moves-faster-than-him?
I wouldn’t know. Our dog is an asshole.
I’m fairly certain he thinks his entire life mission revolves around
- Ensuring we are safe from runners; preferably by taking a chunk out of any runner who dares to come onto our street
- Barking out the window
Today he went through the trouble of angering a neighbor dog who evidently pinned him down and snapped at him. The Husband broke that one up and only told me about it later in his usual say-something-super-dramatic-but-in-a-nonchalant-way.
Husband: Hey, Ozzie got attacked today
Lisa: Ummm what? Is he OK?
Husband: (silence for 10 min)
Husband: Oh, sorry, I got busy. Anyway, he lost. But nothing’s hurt except his ego. Poor little guy.
The one thing our dog loves, aside from food, is the cold. I loathe the cold. This means that when it’s cold, our little puggle is happily running around
pulling me down the block while I’m attempting to pull him back into the warmth of our apartment and away from the hazards of the outside world, like baby strollers across the street that pose no actual threat to our dog but that drive him so mad (somehow) that he is willing to risk his stupid life to run across traffic to bark at it.
Next time I’m getting a cute, fluffy dog that is perfectly content walking slowly around the block and making friends with the overall objective of advancing world peace. Like a dog-version of Gandhi.