Another year closer to death

Most of you probably think that I loll around the house all day, doing no work and just licking myself into oblivion. But you'd be wrong! I'm a thinker, people. My ideas need to percolate before they can be sprung onto the waiting masses. In case you don't believe me, here I am with some notes and my computer trying to decide what to write next:



I may not post frequently, but when I'm not, I'm still thinking about this blog. But when one is a pasha, one has several other commitments outside of the blogosphere. I can't be home all day slaving away at a hot laptop. I have appearances! I have people who need to see me!

In other news, Daddy got me a new toy. He has been fruitlessly searching for a toy that will be my match. You see, I usually eviscerate my toys within 24 hours of meeting them. Either I make a hole and tear out the stuffing or I pull out the squeaker and destroy it. I can't control my own strength. So we have been through many toys, several of them now lying under the dining room table flat and stuffing-less. So he gets me this big lion. It has squeakers in its head and each paw. And a big honker-type thing in its middle. When we first met, I was a little intimidated. He was as big as me. I knew that I would have problems carrying him and trying to jump up on the couch with him. It took several trials of me falling back onto the floor but I overcame. I just had to contemplate my enemy first:



But true to form, I had the honker silenced in less than a day (a personal record, thank you, and much to the chagrin of Daddy who lamented, "But that was the best part!") and one of his squeakers out by the weekend. You are no match for me, Cowardly Lion.

As the title implies, I have turned another year older. I celebrated my birthday this past Tuesday. We aren't sure how old I am, but we think it's seven-ish. I was treated to some peanut butter-dipped sandwich cookies from the dog bakery and of course the annual wearing of the birthday hat. When will these people stop thinking that putting clothes on me is cute? It's humiliating, I tell you. Just take one look at the expression on my face and you'll understand:



Oh, the humanity. Maybe this year will bring more peanut butter surprises and maybe even more blog entries by your truly. You'll just have to read and see. Cheers!

Love,
Stubby