Playful, elegant, and not above the judicious use of the word “shit."

The lair

Every morning after I get the girls out of bed and headed to the kitchen for breakfast, I run to the storage room where I keep the dogs’ crates. Here I’ve pulled back the thin sheet I drape over both of them, a suggestion from Chuck’s trainer long ago who said it would make him feel even more enclosed. Before you protest, this is not a bad things for dogs who are den animals and want a secure, quiet place to rest. If you have any problems with this scientific fact, you can take it up with the sponsor of my website.

The way the both of them stand and wait for me to release them says so much about their individual personalities. Chuck is waiting casually, resigned to the fact that he has to come out and associate with the outside world. Coco, however, has taken the stance of an Olympic sprinter. She is at her mark and is waiting to hear the gun fire. I don’t have to tell you which one screams, turns in six circles and then knocks over Marlo on the way to the back door.

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