Are you expecting a coherent thoughtful post? Maybe something with a bit of humor? Or something to make you think? Nope. It isn’t going to happen. I’m so mixed up I feel like it’s my head in a cone. Here are my random thoughts.
Do you remember the scene in 101 Dalmatians where the dogs passed along the news of the stolen puppies by barking at twilight? Well if Honey had been one of the dogs in the movie, those puppies would never have been found. Because my dog Honey only talks to big dogs.
Had a great title for today’s post. I just know it was going to be hilarious. But I’m not feeling very funny right now. Honey’s got a nasty… I don’t know what. And she needs an operation.
When we decided to adopt a puppy, we spent hours reviewing possible names. But we almost made the wrong choice. What would have happened if we had named Honey Stella instead?
Every so often someone feels compelled to tell dog people that they own their animals and did not give birth to them. And dog lovers respond with outrage. I sit back and think they’re both wrong. My dog is not my child or my possession.
“She’s a reject,” the man explained. “Most breeders don’t want them. But we just love her.” “I understand. Our dog is a reject too.” In fact, most purebred dogs are rejects. And I feel very lucky to have ours.
Patricia McConnell has ruined You Tube for me forever. [Shaking fist in the air] “I curse you, Dr. McConnell.” Thanks to the esteemed animal behaviorist, I hate to see someone hug their dog. But maybe there’s a way to redeem doggy hugs?
It may not surprise you that I think every person should go on an adventure with her dog. But just what is an adventure anyway? And can every person take one?
I spend hours every day with my dog Honey. I watch her. I write about her. You’d think there would be no surprises left. But just when you think you know a dog, she surprises you. My Dog Loves Everyone More Than Me It’s easy to think Honey loves everyone in the world. And that she …
I grew up in Maryland. As a child, spring meant warm weather, blooming bulbs, and the opening of the snow cone stand. But now I live in snowy upstate New York. And spring means two things: mud and dog poop.