What's a Job?

Exactly what do humans think they need these "job" things for? I mean, why do they have to leave for hours and hours, spending less quality time with the most important member of the family, the dog? I don't understand. Something about if I want the bones to keep coming, but I know they will anyway...

My "job" as it were, mainly consists of looking adorable, and occasionally turning up the charm when required. That's kind of it. I don't have to buy my own food, drive anywhere, or pick up my own poop, and everything I want or need just magically appears. So I guess I have high job satisfaction.

Hence the reason for less posting lately - mom has been busier than usual. I'd snuggle up to her every day, waiting for some sort of adventure and accompanying cute photos, but no. She's a bit cranky. And of course the camera battery hasn't been charged... for the last few days she kept putting the battery into the charger and couldn't figure out why it wouldn't charge, getting angrier and angrier and wanting to throw the charger out the window... until she realized that she was putting the battery in the wrong way. Oops. Don't worry mom, I've had a few of those kind of incidents too.

So today she took me to the Grove for some Airedale admiration. Many tourists were taking photos of me, so mom didn't want to whip out her camera while she was trying to hold me in place (I am of course a big fan of the "action shot" otherwise known as "just try to catch a photo of me that's not a black-and-tan furry blur"). So no photos of that fun.

But we did slip in to the Three Dog Bakery for a few treats. The man who made my birthday cake was there, mom pointed him out to me, so I ran over and gave him a big sloppy kiss. It was really good cake, after all...

For some reason I really don't like the "pup cakes" until they're soft and room temperature. When we first get them at the Three Dog Bakery I register my displeasure by not only refusing to eat them but in trying to run away from the bag. I do this every time and mom still never learns, and tries to give me one. So we do our little dance and she suddenly remembers. Once we got into the car I felt that the cakes were at a good temperature for snacking, so I grabbed the bag myself (mom was driving after all, and I thought I'd help out) and tore it apart to get to my treats. Mom really couldn't stop me or take too many photos (again, she was driving) but I put up a few - you dogs will understand.

Love,

Bogart

Workin' for a Livin' on my other blog:

To Aire is Divine