you know what? i like beer. i dig it. i freakin love dipping my muzzle into a bowl of amber goodness.
now, it doesn't take a lot to get me shit-faced, and my person doesn't want me to die of alcohol poisoning, so i usually have to just sip from her bottle. but, dammit, i want my own keg with a paw-level tap. last night the ducks evened their playoff series against the flames. (Speaking of which... Don Koharski, guess which finger i'm holding up?) my person was so excited she jumped up and ran outside yelling.
i, being an opportunist due to my chihuahua heritage, drained the brew on the floor. then, i licked the carpet-- you shouldn't waste!
yeah, i got in trouble, but it was worth it-- until i woke up with a headache, a tangled leash, and the rotty named inga from across the street. yeah, easy inga was right here next to me. harness in one paw, overnight bag in the other.
what will the dogs at the park say?
