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stoutfellowSometimes, when I get dressed and go to the front door, I take Buster and Gracie for a walk. Sometimes I don't. This irregularity confuses them; they don't know whether to bounce with joy or sit in the living room, gazing at me reproachfully.
They have begun to learn an infallible sign of impending walks. If I walk into the kitchen, pick up the roll of poop bags, and tear one off, it's definite: it's walkies time!
They're not the brightest of dogs, but they can observe and draw conclusions.
They have begun to learn an infallible sign of impending walks. If I walk into the kitchen, pick up the roll of poop bags, and tear one off, it's definite: it's walkies time!
They're not the brightest of dogs, but they can observe and draw conclusions.
