When mom said "lets go to the flea market Bogie" this morning I admit I was expecting the worst. What exactly is a flea market? Do they sell fleas there? Or is that where fleas go to do their shopping? Either way it didn't sound pleasant. I'm not a big fan of fleas. I get the itchies every once in awhile and while mom hasn't found many, all of you dogs know that when you find even one that means there are more of the little buggers running around.
But - oh, that's right - flea market means something fun! The first Sunday of every month is the Pasadena City College flea market. Mom took me here once before when I was a baby. Once we drove into the parking structure I remembered where I was. That is, after farting and barking the entire drive to Pasadena, much to the amusement (I'm sure) of mom's friends who were driving. Yup, nothing like rippin' a few while practicing scales, that's what I always say...
So I got to walk around for an hour or so and take in all of the accolades on behalf of gorgeous Airedales everywhere. It seems that a lot of folks who go to flea markets really appreciate my rugged good looks. That's a big paws up from me!
Love,
Bogart
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