As some of my friends know, there is irony behind my blog’s name. Although I named it after my blesséd pups, I’m not always their biggest fan. Deacon, Lucy and Cooper have lived in the Carmichael household for 12, 6 and 4 years, respectively. They’ve also always starred in our annual Christmas cards. They’re great- they really are. My friend Caroline is bizarrely in love with Deacon. I say bizarrely because Deacon is a tubby, bichon frise, with an unshakeable penchant for humping. It’s awkward. We like to think of Deacon as the pervy old man in the family.
Anyway, I have recently encountered a loveable, angel of a dog. His name is BEEF! I wanna smush him and squeeze him endlessly! He lives across the hallway from me, and I highly recommend taking a trip over and meeting up with him. I’m trying to convince his owners that I’m normal and can be trusted to walk him. Unfortunately, I don’t think I made too great of an impression. Walking up to someone’s apartment and going, “Hi! Is Beef home?”, gives a bit of a stalker-y vibe. I’d probably wonder how the hell the random girl across the hall knew my dog… (I don’t even really know how I know Beef.)
From this photo, you can totally tell how in love Beef and I are. You can also tell how completely confused his owner is. Look at his little face! His droopy eyes! His broken tail! His underbite! EEK! Come play, everyone.
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