I am exhausted.
Pooped in the street.
Fell off Mom’s bed in the middle of the night. (Yes, he sleeps there, alright?)
Cut his head on Molly’s tooth when they were chasing a ball and caught it at the same time…bled a lot…Mom had to take him home and admininster doggie first aid.
Broke the actual baby gate to the kitchen…again.
Found a dead baby rattlesnake!
Knocked over everything on Mom’s coffee table with Molly B.
Ran out in the middle of the night after some intoxicated German neighbors and scared them to death! hahahaha
Jumped in Don’s golfcart.
Jumped in Carol’s golfcart.
Cut his paw.
Jumped in a parked golfcart.
Shredded a tennis ball, not his.
Shredded a tennis ball, his.
Peed on himself for the upteenth time.
What have I gotten myself into?
But, at the end of the day, the handsome yellow man comes over for his nightly loves, put his head in my lap for loves, and I really don’t care how many rattlesnakes he finds, as long as they are dead. Clean slate.