It could be puppies exploring my apartment. It is, in fact, puppies violating my office chair!! And who’s in that photo, humping merrily away? It’s Picasso!! Bastard. Pervert. What kind of puppies am I raising?!?
Before we go any further, I want you to hold up your right hand and repeat after me:
“Food Lady is insane (in a good way). Food Lady has 12 dogs in her 400 square foot apartment. Food Lady is raising rescue puppies, running a dog rescue and is forced to live with Tweed 24/7. She takes the dogs to the beach almost every day. She takes lovely puppy pictures for us almost every day. I therefore will not judge her for the obscene amount of sand on her floors. Sweartogodamenbrutha.”
Okay, we’re good. I didn’t vacuum and sweep until *after* puppy playtimez.
Ladies and Gentleman (Yeah, just one gentleman. I assume it’s only Cookie Uncle representin’ for the boyz) we have little dogs.
Not potatoes, real live little dogs. Look!
We had a playdate. In just a couple of days, it has become play for 25 minutes and sleep for 45, then repeat. I’m thinking of starting them on heroin or some other kind of downer.
“Yum. Flesh.”
^^ takes after Donut!!
Tweed passes on more perverse secrets.
I’m annoyed that I screwed up the focus on this one because it’s such a pretty shot – or it would be, even with the trashcan in the background. If you really loved me, you’d pretend the puppy was in focus too. kthanx.
Besides, I make it up to you with heart tuggers like this:
That’s Cindy. Appropriately, given the Brady Bunch theme, she is the most wee puppy in the pack. And she is so SO social. She toddles around after me wagging her tail like mad. She’s a feisty little girl with lots of sass. She reminds me of someone … oh. right. me.
And for Rainy …
Marsha Marsha Marsha!
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