Hey, folks. Ella the pup here. It’s been awhile, but I’ve been pretty busy evicting squirrels from my attic and project managing our extensive house renovations—hey, somebody’s got to be the responsible adult around here; might as well be me—so I haven’t exactly had an excess of free time in which to post. Forgive me. It doesn’t mean I don’t still love you.
I mean, is this the face of a killer or what? Woodland creatures, back off.
Still, you’ll be glad to know that I’m alive and thriving and basically slaying life, along with squirrels (you’ll also be glad to hear that particular one lived…this time).
If you’re a frequent visitor to my blog—sorry, Mom; I know the good people are really here in hopes I’ll make a cameo—you probably remember my pal Max. He’s the second cutest dog in the world, after moi, of course.
He stayed with us twice this summer while his humans were in New Orleans and England, and I’ve humbly invited him into my home three more times in recent months, so he might as well be my new roommate.
I mean, I like being only dog, but if I have to share my sticks with someone, Max is who I would pick. I guess.
And yes, young Padawan, he’s been mistaken for Yoda on more than one occasion. The force is strong with that one.
Last weekend, Max’s humans dropped him off at my house for the weekend while they headed to Mom’s former stomping grounds, Sewanee. Mom and Dad were pretty busy getting the exterior of the house all tied up before our home inspection this week, so Max and I swept the perimeter for them. You know, as we do.
On Sunday, we packed up the car and drove up the mountain, too; us members of the nation within were rudely confined to the car while the humans ate a feast, but it was worth the wait as the parental units then decided to reward me with a little hike. And guys, there’s nothing I like more than a little hike (well, OK, rawhide sticks and stuffed monkeys, but I figure that goes without saying).
They tell me Tennessee’s been having a balmy winter—I wouldn’t know anything about that as I’m always sweating in this constricting fur coat—and it was the perfect afternoon to be outdoors. Then again, any afternoon is perfect for being outdoors if you ask me (and you did).
We drove out to Natural Bridge, which is an easy saunter down into a gorge that even the least skilled human could tackle. For a superb athlete like myself, it was a piece of cake.
Dad says I’m a billy goat. I find that offensive; they’re stupid and they smell. Beyond the white veneer, we don’t have a lot in common. And when I say “not a lot,” clearly I mean nothing.
I think Dad’s actually the one who’s a goat. (Yeah, how does it feel, Dad? Huh?)
I came home with a muddy mug, which brought back out that lingering skunk smell from when that little sucker sprayed me last month, but it was totally worth it.
Being outdoors is just the best ever, wouldn’t you agree?
Hope you have a pawsome Christmas.