Friday, March 9, 2012

Reasons Why My Dogs are Not Dogs

Sophie is not a dog. She's a cat cosplaying a dog. Whenever she can, Sophie does her best to jump up to the highest spot in the room. Granted, that usually means she has to give up around the height of the couch back, but still. You don't see many Goldens hanging out on the backs of couches, do you? (Is Goldens an accepted shortening for golden retrievers? My mind says yes.)

Sherlock is not a dog. He is a hog cosplaying a dog. Whenever he goes outside, he starts grunting and making entirely un-dog-like noises as he roots around in the yard, presumably looking for truffles. Sad to say, I will not be making tons of money since there do not seem to be any truffles in my backyard despite his best efforts.

When Sophie goes outside, she becomes a goat. I have seen her time and again casually chowing down on grass while we play outside. Granted, she's tiny, so each blade of grass is a battle to be won and typically she has to start in the middle of the blade just to take it down to size. Sometimes she'll eat weeds or clover although, again, she's tiny, so I don't think we'll be switching to this method of lawn care unless we move to a city space with a square foot of yard.

In conclusion, I thought I had dogs. Boy was I wrong.

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