THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING ANGUS

What's the sense of taking pictures if they're never seen?  Where's the sense of tracking progress if one is too lazy to blog?  Let's kill two birds with one stone tonight.

I've had a few prior readers of the Muse ask for an Angus update.  They remember him from his early days:

19 May 2014

D'aw.  He's grown since this puppy picture.  No longer does he wrap around my boob...

Sometime in 2017
...Now he fills my whole chest, spilling over on each side to form a fuzzy, warm wrap of dogitude. Too big to effectively hold like a baby, he opts to take up my side of the bed.  

Angus is a quirky dog.  He'd make for a proper service dog if not for his propensity to explode into loud barks whenever he sees another dog.  As it is, he's sensitive to his owners' attitudes and responses.  He'll bolt down the stairs to alert me if Better Half is on the edge of passing out.  He'll run back up to rouse him once Better Half hits the floor.  He'll paw at us if we become irritated or if we quarrel.  He tattles on my dad if he stands too long or seems stuck while walking.  He has Fritos-scented feet and retains his puppy-ear smell. The dog, not my dad.

He's also a better photographer than I am.  I kid you not. Behold his selfie:


Alright, he doesn't understand the concept of lighting, but the dog sure knows how to frame his shot.  No editing from me above. 

Clever Angus.

His original moniker, Agamemnon the Onion, never quite fit. Thus he became Angus (Angus Agamemnon!!! if  I'm pissed off at him). He goes by a few more pet names - Gussy, Gus-Gus, the Black Hole - and comes to them all, when he chooses to come at all.




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