My Problem Child

I have a problem child.

Well, a problem dog-child.

In the last week Timber has:

A. Sliced his pinky toe open.    B. Chewed Destroyed things.  C. Scratched so bad he bled.
            

The corpse of our doormat        This lasted 1 whole minute      Just call me Dr. Blackmon

But then I get to spend my evenings with him and our little girl-dog and I don’t care how much extra work they give me.

He’s always been a cuddler.

And he wants so badly to be a lap dog.

But he’s already almost 30 pounds- soon to be 60.

This is what I imagine goes through his not-always-so-bright mind every night.

His usual routine:

1. 2.

Just an elbow mom.                                   Maybe a whole leg is ok?

3.

Ok, so half my body isn’t so much.

4.

Well, I was already half on, might all well just go for it all.

See mom- I DO fit!

5.

Well, let me just change it up a bit.

6.

Maybe if I stretch out I’ll fit better?

7.

Ah, there we go. Perfect!

Oh, your leg is asleep?

Well, I’m comfy so you’d better not move or I’ll give you “The Face”

“The Face”

It's impossible to say no the "The Face"