Mom says that we went from an 18 cubic foot refrigerator to a 10 cubic foot one, when we moved into the Dog House on Wheels. Our stove is a lot smaller too she says.
I’m not sure what that means. All I know is that she cooks more for me, like every two days! And it makes me craaaaaazy when I smell it on the stove. She can’t understand why I drool and beg and whine and shake whenever that stuff is cookin’. She’s a great cook!
Mom says she’s thinking about buying me kibble, because she’s mad that she can’t put ice cream or frozen shrimp in the little freezer. She says my food takes up all the space! I say, “so what?!”
When we leave the Desert Rose and head to the big city, it’s kibble for me I guess, or at least until we get back to Colorado. Personally, I don’t care what I eat. I love ANY food. Mom doesn’t have to work so hard. I’ll eat polyfill stuffing from my Barney if she lets me.
When I came to live with Mom and Dad, I was on some pretty good dog food. It tasted just fine, I didn’t complain. But Mom complained. She said I had bad breath, and my teeth were getting pretty icky, which just doesn’t seem right for a puppy with brand new choppers.
This week I got my first tastes of something called the