Regarding sticks....

I'd like to take the opportunity to issue a formal complaint about the quality of sticks in Braintree these days. Yesterday my mom took me for a walk around the neighborhood. There were many sticks on the ground, so many that you'd think you'd died and gone to Heaven. These were good-sized sticks too, with lots of little branches. Some of them were longer than me, and quite thick besides. Every time I picked up a stick, though, it would disintegrate in my mouth. I'd be stuck with this little bit of stick no wider than my mouth.

I don't know what can be done to improve the low quality of Braintree sticks. I'm just a dog. But it is clear to me that something must be done or else there will be no sticks to carry!

I made up for the trauma of the disintegrating sticks last night. I have a tennis ball. It's a low-quality tennis ball, intended for dogs and not for tennis players, and I've pretty well wrecked it. The felt covering hangs off in little rubbery strips. Last night I brought the ball into the bed, grabbed one of the rubbery strips and swung it around. I managed to get Dad in three different bruises, and to get him in his computer monitor.

A Bear Named Wesley

On Saturday, my people gave me a new toy. It's not really "new." It is a stuffed bear (with a squeaker - I love squeakers!) that someone gave them when they were going to bring me home. Initially they were not going to give me stuffed things. They were concerned that I would have trouble differentiating between my toys and other stuffed things, like pincushions, pillows and the little pink piggy that Grandma bought when she found out that Mom was on the way. That said, Dad decided that I've been pretty good with "stuffing." I don't chew on the pillows, haven't noticed any pincushions, and while the little pink piggy smells very much like Mom (since she's had it her whole life) I don't bother him. I had managed to completely destroy one of my other toys, a glow-in-the-dark rubber skeleton, by eating the head, and Dad decided to give me the bear.

That same day, my mom's friend called. Mom's friend is the mother of my little two-legged friend Wesley. Apparently Wesley has a stuffed puppy that he has decided to name after me - Yogi. I have decided that my new bear shall be called Wesley. It doesn't really look like Wesley, being blue and red and very, very fuzzy, but that's okay.

Wesley is my new favorite toy. I bring him everywhere. I carry him around the kitchen and find a good place in the sun for him to sleep. I bring him over to my food bowl when I eat. I bring him into my crate at night and hold him in my arms when I go to sleep. I even bring him into the bed when I jump in there to sneak a nap with Mom and Dad. (They seem to be fairly distressed by this. I have to carry Wesley in my mouth, because I'm a dog and lack opposable thumbs. This renders Wesley a little.... damp.)

I am so happy to have my little bear named Wesley!