Today's My Birfday!

I'm not sure what it means, but there it is all the same. I do know I got lots of belly-rubs this morning.

Happy Birfday to me!

Ah, fresh air!

Yes, the thumb-havers gave The Boy a bath last night. We're all feeling much less sniffly, but for some reason he's still scratching a lot. Perhaps he formed a habit while collecting stuff from Outside all over his fur.

Speaking of habits... he lives -- LIVES -- to be chased around the living room. If we are in there and I'm not getting him, he's hollering about it. Grrr, haaawhh, arrrrr... usually with his mouth around a toy, trying to taunt me into wanting it. Which usually works.

Oh, I fulfilled one of my new year's resolutions last week. I caught him. Knew I could.

We Are a Brand!

Presenting.... Two Hounds Nut Brown Ale!

Notice who the Two Hounds are? Do ya?

Uncle B pointed out, while designing the label, that we aren't actually hounds, but The Typist pointed out that "herding dogs" doesn't even remotely rhyme with "nut brown," and besides, we aren't talking Westminster Kennel Club here, anyway. We never do. It's likely you'll hear "Release the hounds!" when we run out into the backyard; to heck with breeding particulars.

I must say, The Boy looks perhaps his very best here. Very jaunty.

Of course, we aren't getting a single drop of the limited edition, 24-bottle brew. "Not for poppies," yes, we know. We've made a deal, though. A good stock of Frosty Paws awaits us in the freezer. For we are Good Dogs. Yes, we are.

Feeling Famous

Yeah, so The Typist shot her mouth off somewhere, and it means I'm getting fan mail! Sweet. Locusts and Honey John likes the way I write. (It's made even more spectacular by the fact that I'm using borrowed thumbs.)

Wait 'til he sees my upcoming debut in beverage marketing. Actually, The Boy and I are sharing the label; we're learning to be a team, after all. But still, if I hadn't been calendar-worthy from my very first photogenic appearance on the puppy scene, it's likely this blog wouldn't even exist. It's been almost a year (or seven years? I can't tell which), and The Boy has yet to figure out that you're supposed to smile when they point that silver box thingy at you. They stooped to bribery so they could get a shot of him with his mouth open. Some of us are just born to pose. Others, less.