Sick...

Okay, so I haven't been feeling like my normal perky self all week. Which is why The Boy and I could no longer delay our checkup trip to the vet. Went Thursday, and the thumb-havers got a follow-up call today. Apparently, I have something bacterial. And I have to go back in on Monday. Ick. Probably caught something from hanging around with Samson the Poop-Eater of Saline County on our last road trip.

The Alpha says I'm expensive. Calls me the Six Million Dollar Dog. And that doesn't even count bionic parts, because they never installed those.

The Boy's Birfday!

Yes, today's the day. The Boy is two. I'm still not sure what a birfday is, but I suspect it will once again involve Frosty Paws.

A to Z meme

Accent: German.
Booze: Not For Poppies.
Chore I Hate: Getting my toenails clipped.
Dog or Cat: Duh! Dog!
Essential Electronics: Fan
Favorite Cologne(s): Puppy shampoo.
Gold or Silver: The chain on my leash is silver.
Hometown: Carrollton, Texas
Insomnia: What’s that?
Job Title: Guardian of the Realm, Patroller of the Perimeter
Kids: Why? On? Earth? I’m spayed, anyhow.
Living arrangements: Sweet, very sweet. I’m waited on, tongue and paw.
Most admirable trait: I’m Cubtastic!
Number of sexual partners: They call me the Virgin Poppy. Nobody but me knows for sure, though.
Overnight hospital stays: Two.
Phobias: Linoleum.
Quote: “Have you been in the milk?”
Religion: Methodist/Catholic hybrid.
Siblings: The Boy.
Time I wake up: Whenever I feel like it.
Unusual talent or skill: I know how to use my inside voice/bark.
Vegetable I refuse to eat: Onion. But it’s not that I haven’t tried. Repeatedly. Whenever any falls on the floor.
Worst habit: Licking myself for no good reason.
X-rays: Too many. (Stupid hip.)
Yummy foods I make: Does my own vomit count?
Zodiac sign: Aries

Flat Stanley, my new friend

This is me with my new buddy, Flat Stanley. The mailman brought him. I barked.

Flat Stanley doesn't like to do a whole lot, but he's okay to have around. He says he wants to see the town, then go back to Fayetteville. I have entrusted him to the thumb-havers for sightseeing duties. I think they are planning to implicate him in the Kennedy Assassination. We'll see how that goes.

Who's Kennedy, and what's an assassination? Does it involve having two butts? Because that would be great for sniffing...

Hey there, Flyboy...

Okay, so The Boy can jump. Leap, even. We know this. But last week he started flinging himself up in the air any time a ball was thrown, and not necessarily in the direction of said ball. Just general flinging. It was quite silly, actually.

So, in an effort to encourage directed flinging, The Alpha and The Typist starting tossing around that round rope thing with the cloth in the middle. They call it a Frisbee(tm), but I'm pretty sure that's copyright infringement going on right there in the backyard. No matter; The Boy is chasing after it, leaping for the catch, and then trying to make noise with the squeaky thing in the middle as he brings it back for another throw.

Me? Well, I'm not really supposed to jump like that. Sometimes I demand some tug-of-war with it, or they'll toss me low-hanging Frisbees so my feet don't have to leave the ground, but mostly I just chew on a stick. Mmmmm, stick!