QR code tour · rated G (for Good boy)
Hey Auntie Sara, Uncle Garritt, and Uncle P P — Mom and Dad packed some bags and left. I can only assume they are gone forever. So, you all will have to take care of me now.
They kept saying something about August, but it's April... They've clearly lost it. As you all know, I will bark at you like you're a burglar every time you come over. That being said, barking is my love language, so it just means I love you a lot.
Everything you need to love and take care of me forever is below; walks are always a yes if someone's up for a slow sniff tour (I promise I won't try and mark everything under the sun (I lied. That will totally happen)).
(It just scrolls down. I'm not a wizard. I'm a dog.)
I had a feeling this day would come, so I made Dad take a bunch of pictures of me, so it would be easier for people to love me.
Fun fact: I have never once lied about being hungry.
Times are squishy. Follow the vibes: food, potty, pills, dramatic sighs, repeat.
Morning · ~8:00-8:30 (flex is fine)
Let me out. I will do my business (like a professional). When I come back in, please wipe my paws. My paws be getting real dirty.
Food time! One large, heaping scoop of my dry food. Then take the chicken-based fresh food from the bag in the fridge (I love this part) and pour it loosely on top — just enough to lightly cover the kibble. Lik a hat.
Evening · ~5:00
Out again. Same deal: paws get wiped when I return. I did not invent mud; I simply redistribute it.
Pills go with a little peanut butter. I do not need a whole jar. A polite dab is enough. I am a gentleman.
After that I get my dental treat. I act casual about it but I am internally screaming with joy. I will grab it from you and retreat off into the distance to eat it.
Night · ~9:00
Another big overfull scoop of dry food (yes, this is allowed; I wrote this website (definitely not Dad)).
Then let me out one last time for the night. Paws wiped on the way in. Then I assume my position as hallway security until morning.
Lately, my belly has had the rumblies that only grass can satisfy. Dad doesn't like when I eat grass, but I do it anyway because I am a rebel. Dad would probably tell you to not let me eat the grass too much, but what does he know? I am a dog. I know what I like.
There are two water bowls: one in the front and one in the bedroom. Please peek at both and make sure I am not running a desert simulator.
The bedroom bowl tends to run empty faster because I am committed to hydration. There is a large cup above that bowl — use it to refill (give me the good water!).
Harness and leash first, door second. Clip me on before the door opens so I do not yeet myself into the neighborhood on pure vibes.
This is mostly a slow sniff tour, not a cardio PR. Let me read the pee-mail, investigate suspicious leaves, and pretend I have never seen the sidewalk before.
Poop bagsshould be clipped onto the harness. Dad started doing this so he didn't have to hold them (lazy bum).
The important part: TREATS! Mom and Dad keep my treats in a glass jar by the front door. Bring a few with you and I will return the favor with a few licks.
WARNING:The pokey caterpillars are back! Please steer me clear of them so I don't accidently step on one. They hurt my paws and make me very sad. I will try to avoid them myself, but my eyesight isn't the greatest.
Dad said a website needs "release notes." I said okay, but I'm the product owner, the QA team, and the stakeholder who eats grass.
This button is 100% necessary.
