So I walk into the kitchen this morning, and there is Bruce on top of the garbage. This is a terrible state of affairs for lots of reasons. First of all, how did he get there? Did he jump off the counter and land there? Second, how can I get into the garbage and find out if there’s anything good in there. If I put my paw on the thing on the bottom, the lid will open and Bruce will fly through the air. We discussed a plan, but came to no conclusions.I left for my walk with Mommis, who didn’t seem upset; she just took a couple of pictures.
And when I got back he wasn’t there anymore. Mysterious. A ghost? It’s Halloween.
my brother Sammy is a pain in the tail. Literally. I am sort of a mellow guy, but Sammy is a whack job. Playing with him always gets me into more trouble than it’s worth. But even when I lay down, and show him I’m done, he doesn’t stop.
And Mommis thinks it’s funny. I don’t think she has owned a philosophical dog before.
So the Biltmore Golf Course is overseeding and we’re allowed to go on there and run. That is, if nobody sees us, because technically we aren’t allowed to go on there and run. But early in the morning nobody does see us. Except other people with dogs.
This morning we were running the course and I saw something white coming toward me that looked like me. As she came closer, I could see she was a British Cream like I am. I’ve never seen another me.
Her name is Sandy and she came from Dallas. Her father is a nice man named Bill who is on his 8th golden. I guess he loves us! He said he had lost many goldens to cancer and got a British cream because we don’t have that incidence of cancer because we’re not inbred.
I didn’t understand a word he said, but I thought Sandy was beautiful. She’s an older woman though, two years old, and she wouldn’t look at me.