Today was a fun day. Mom and I went for a hike in the state park because it wasn't raining. I had such a fun time exploring, and tried to get mom to run with me but she wouldn't. I know it's because she's afraid of losing to me. I'm that fast.
Mom says it's because she's recovering from an injury. I'm still sure it's because I'm so much faster and she knows it.
After we got back from our walk, the big brown truck came. It blared it's horn a few times to let us know it was there, so OF COURSE we had to bark at it. The big brown truck brings all sorts of fun things to our house, like boxes of dog food for me and candle supplies for mom and shoes for the teens and car parts for dad. I like when my stuff comes best, of course.
Today, the driver of the big brown truck gave me and the girls each a treat. I LOVE THAT MAN. I mean, I've not met him before, but who wouldn't love someone who gives you treats the very first time you meet? He's a nice man.
But then when I took my biscuit somewhere private to eat it (those girls may snarf theirs down and come get mine!), I realized that it was NOT a Dr. Harvey's treat. It was, in fact, a boxed dog biscuit.
Guys, come on. I have evolved past this stage. If it's not a dehydrated meat product or super yummy soft chew, I don't want it, okay? I appreciate all the good thoughts, but I've got refined tastes. A dog in my position has to be discriminating.
Mom says I'm just plain spoiled. Whatever that means.