The Dog Rules
Curl up on the bed where Mommy’s body heat is strongest.
Eat the good stuff first—leftover bbq, cheese, and toast.
Play with the lamb squeak toy as long as the humans are around to play with me.
Run off the rabbit into the neighbors’s yard.
Wait for the squirrel to come down from the tree.
Get dirty digging in the hole under the dead tree in my favorite park.
Put up with a bath so the humans will allow me onto the furniture again.
Make friends with the crow-bros.
Ostracize the dumb Lab at the park who eats his own poop.
Sniff the ground for news of who’s in heat.
Hide the frozen bone in the couch for later.
Self-pack for a road trip even though the human’s won’t be finished loading for an hour.
Bark when the doorbell rings on TV.
Take treats gently from an open hand.
Hide in the corner of the closet at the first rumblings of a storm.
Jump in Mommy’s lap when merging from Queen Anne onto 99.
Lie in the sun and follow it around the yard.
Humor Mommy, who isn’t ready to accept the reason I’m not eating.
Follow her every where.
Trust she’ll be okay without me.
My beloved pooch died one year ago. There will never be another Benny.
That’s it for this week. I hope you’re well, happy, and loved.





Who wouldn’t miss that dear face? The furniture must seem empty without him.
We loved you, Benny! You were a good doggie.