We all know I'm a stud, right? That's a given. But the fact remains that I'm not...well...huge. I'm actually kind of tiny. When you realize Angel's almost three times my size you get an idea of how little I really am. So, although I'm studly and fierce and all, you huge creatures scare the kibble droppings out of me. Not so much because I fear you, per se. What I fear is getting accidentally stepped on or kicked by you. Because, let's face it, you giants are clumsy.
When I'm not in my bed, on Beard's lap, angling for a treat, or hanging with Nice, you're apt to find me (or not find me as the case may be) hiding. Small places with up top cover provide me all the protection I need. If I can keep out of view, all the better. Don't judge me. It's an instinctual thing.
They keep my food bowl in the kitchen by the refrigerator. When I have my dinner, I race into the kitchen, grab a kibble or three, then dash back, and park myself underneath the dining room table where I devour my kill. The protective cover of table and chairs gives me all the comfort I need, and the confidence to eat in peace.
Because of my incredibly busy and stressful life, I might, on rare occasions, nap pretty much throughout the morning, and well into the afternoon. Should I be napping and should I hear a loud noise, this is what results.
Sometimes there's rain. Sometimes there's thunder. One's as bad as the other, as far as I'm concerned. When that happens, you might well find me here.
Or you might not find me at all. Ask Angel to tell you the story about how I disappeared just two weeks or so after we came to live with Beard and Nice. They were convinced I'd been carried off by a Chihuey thief or a Golden Eagle. Truth is, I'd simply found a hidey-hole and fallen asleep. It was good to see them so frantic, though. They had the reward posters made up and everything.
I used to sleep with Angel in the doggy bed in the living room at beddy-bye time, but now I like to sleep in the bedroom. There's a doggy bed there too, and that's where I usually wind up crashing. I don't start there, though. I start here, between the cedar chest and walnut chest of drawers.
There's about a four or five inch gap and I'm certain nothing but me can get in there, which means nothing can get to me. Once Beard is out cold, which at his age takes no time at all, I quietly trot across to to the other side of the bed and plop myself into the doggy bed.
It ain't easy being small, but you learn to cope. And as long as you pretty much get your way on everything life has to offer, life's good.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Monday, June 16, 2014
Last Saturday, Beard Face Man walked up to us while we were resting in our bed and said, "Kids, today is Picture Day."
Now, I didn't know exactly what that meant, but it sounded awfully important. So I scratched myself, lay back down, and promptly fell asleep. Angel dealt with it differently. She spent half the morning grooming, preening, applying makeup, and generally being her bad fussy self. She really thought she was hot stuff, but I sniffed her butt and it still smelled as bad as ever.
BFM has this little metal and glass thingy he sometimes barks into as he holds it up to his ear.Occasionally he hits the front of it with his opposable thumbs too. This time he stuck it in our faces and blinded us with a bright light over and over and over again. For this I shall dump outside his door tonight.
This is what resulted:
|Angel hogging the bed|
|Angel being prissy|
|Angel moving her head an eighth of an inch to the left|
|A sexy toss of the head|
|Way to frame the pic, idiot|
|Is it time for bed yet?|
|Okay, Buddy. You owe me lots of lap time for this|