Monday, September 22, 2008
The way to a hound's heart ...
... is definitely through it's stomach!
Mom and Dad spent Saturday afternoon searching for treats that would not upset my delicate stomach. I don't see why they're so concerned. After all, I'm able to digest all kinds of interesting things. Anyway, they're on a "Marmie's so thin--we need to feed her more and give her treats" tear, which is just fine by me. My hefty brother Bernie, who is built like a tank, has had his food portions reduced. He hopes Mom will stop calling him "Bacon Boy" if he doesn't gain his usual fall/winter poundage. I hate to say it, I think the Bacon Boy name has stuck.
I have a few nicknames too--Marma-hound; Marma-tank (since bloodhounds don't go around obstacles, but through them); Marma-lady; "neighborhood rooster"--not sure I like being referred to as a critter with feathers; and Marma-howler. Speaking of howling, I was in fine form this morning, greeting all the construction workers in the neighborhood. It's only polite to say hello, after all. I think I did wake everyone within a 4-block radius, though. But, as Wimsey argues, humans are around to serve us, so if we're awake, they should be too.