As I zip toward the shower for a meeting this morning I can't help but notice a nice sized splat of dog vomit on the floor, right next to my treasured Taylor guitar.
Nice. Very nice.
But there's something so sweet, so innocent about those little faces of theirs. Even Hobbes, Dear Fiance's hound/boxer mix, has the sweetest disposition so I couldn't stay mad for very long about his mess in the kitchen yesterday. Even though I felt like I was cleaning up after a circus animal. *gets a little sick in throat* Nuff said.
This is not normal around here. The dogs are housebroken and are taken out several times a day since Dear Fiance and I both work out of the house. These are very pampered pooches.
But there's something just so sweet, so dear about their faces, their dispositions, and I can't stay angry or even that disgusted with their "mistakes" around the house.
How can you stay angry at a face like this?
OMG, I turned around to take a picture of Picasso to finish up this article and he was chewing on DF's rugby mouth guard, still out from practice last night ...
His cuteness incapacitates me. Both of them.
