Dr. One Friend finally found herself an heir to One Dog's throne. We'll call her Two Dog.
She's just an overgrown plush toy, really.
I mean, seriously. That is not a real nose.
If we take the food away and hide all the toys in the attic, she and Charlie get along just fine.
She's very rambunctious, for a plush toy, but he seems to like it.
Mostly.
Really almost always, actually.
That's a happy face right there. I swear to god.
But he's old. He gets tireder faster, and takes more time recuperating for the next round. So even though she's the one who's supposed to be crate-training...
I can't say he's 100% sorry she's gone home.
Got his rawhide chew toy back and everything.
P.S. That's the guest bedroom in the top shots. I wouldn't have a leg lamp in my master suite, don't be ridiculous!
5 comments:
I had to scroll back up to find the leg lamp. I was too occupied searching for the signature roll of TP. However I did spy a Diet Coke.
I not only had to scroll up to check out the leg lamp, but then had to click back to the post after getting to the comments page to go looking for loo paper.
Aww. She looks so sweet and innocent. How exactly did you manage that?
Jenni -- Oh, man! You're right! This may be the very first series of pictures in this blog without a single roll! My explanation stands, though: that's the guest room. Note the (empty) box of actual tissues!
12 -- That's all right, sweetie, you've had a bad month. Don't worry, there's not going to be a test. Except of my patience!
Charlie -- I hung her by the ankles in the cellar.
OK, i'm making chris sleep on the other side of the bed next time we crash there...
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