A Tripawd Thanksgiving (with a side of dish towel)

Three-legged Wyatt Ray has his first Tripawd Thanksgiving, then eats a towel and t-shirt for dessert.

Hoppy Thanksgiving everypawdy! Did you have a fun pawliday with your pack? I know I did! That’s ’cause my grandmaw has gotten so soft in her old age, she finally let me sit by the dinner table for the big feast.

Thanksgiving Tripawd
“Hey Dad, you don’t want that pie, right?”

I was soooo good. I didn’t even beg too much. My people were so impressed they sneaked plates of pumpkin pie scraps to me!

dog eating pumpkin pie
It wasn’t a whole pie like before, but the scraps were pretty good.

But just because I’m now almost eleven years old, don’t think I’m not a hellraiser anymore. Nope, that just ain’t the Shepherd way. There’s still a lot of rebel punk in me. See, this morning, I ate a tasty dishtowel for breakfast when my people were away on a walk.

dog eats dish towel
I couldn’t help it, it tasted like Thanksgiving!

Then I ate some of Dad’s favorite running shirt. I heard mom say he needed a new one so I just gave him a head start.

The humans were not happy when they came back from their walk. Mom just kept saying “Why, Wyatt, Why?”

dog eats t-shirt
Now you can get a new shirt, Dad!

Later, she went to the grocery store to buy me all new dog food. Lots of it, in cans! Isn’t that a riot? I got to eat canned dog food after eating the towel and shirt?!

“He’s either gonna puke or poop,” she said to pops. Now they’re waiting for me to do something.

Who knew being bad could be sooooo good?

 

WRD: Wash, Rinse, Dry, it’s Pawliday Time!

It’s Thanksgiving, which means it’s time to clean up my act and find out what WRD really stands for. Hint, it’s NOT Wyatt Ray Dawg!

I always thought my initials, WRD, were for my name: Wyatt Ray Dawg. That  would make sense, right?

But apparently, during the pawliday season, WRD stands for something else. And I don’t like it one bit. I thought all that swimming I did last summer counted as enough bathing for a lifetime. But mom and dad had other ideas.

Wash

Rinse

Dry

Life is ruff when you’re a dawg during the pawlidays. It’s all about being clean when you go visiting, right? How totally exhausting!

From me, Wyatt Ray Dawg, and my people: Hoppy Thanksgiving to you and your pack! May all the turkeys get pardoned, like my feathered friends in Montana.

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A Turkey Tripawd Gets Traction in da Pawliday House

Did Wyatt Ray have another pie-a-thon this Thanksgiving? Find out in his latest adventure when a Turkey Tripawd Celebrates a Festive Pawliday.

Hoppy Thanksgiving weekend Tripawds friends! I hope everypawdy had a fun pawliday getting spoiled by the pack. Mine was okay. Unlike last year’s pie-scapade, this year’s festivities were low key for me. Let’s put it this way: I didn’t end the night by throwing up or seeing the dogtor!

Turkey Tripawd looks for the pawliday celebration
Where’s the pawty?

My people took me to my grandpawrent’s house. They have slick floors (and I don’t mean cool slick) that make it hard for me to walk. Mom was freaked out so she got me some more Paw Friction stuff and put it on before we made the big drive.

Turkey Tripawd, Paw Friction, Traction
Wait? Are you gonna use this on ME?

I’m not a fan of anyone touching my feet. But in this case it was a good thing. I got to my grandpaw’s crib and was able to hop around and beg for treats!

Turkey Tripawd, Paw Friction, traction
OK I kinda like traction for Tripawds like me!

Unfortunately, mom and dad told everypawdy about my notorious pie-a-thon. “Don’t turn your back on him and don’t feed him anything!” they said to the other bipawds. So I got NO pie at all. Isn’t that mean?

Turkey Tripawd
Where’s the pie? I’m waiting!

Lucky me I got cooked sweet potato and some dark turkey meat instead. Better than nothing I say, and it makes me grateful for having such a pawesome pack who makes sure my belly is well fed. Even if it isn’t with pie.

I hope that your human and furry pack mates are having a fun pawliday weekend together! Keep in touch!

Hoppy Fourth from All of Us on Three

Three legged Wyatt Ray salutes the Tripawds Nation on Indepence Day 2017.

Tripawds Nation, we salute you!

Independence Day Wyatt
Hoppy Indepawdence Day Tripawds Nation!

May your day be sunny and relaxing, may those loud crackly things humans seem to enjoy (go figure) be a little softer on your ears tonight.

Independence Day Wyatt

I hope you and your packs have a chillaxin’, summerific day together!

With Love from COOLorado,
Wyatt Ray Dawg

 

Giving Thanks on Pie Day

Can a German Shepherd eat two pies and survive? Find out with the latest adventures of Tripawd Wyatt Ray Dawg.

Hoppy Thanksgiving everypawdy! I hope you had as much fun as I did. My people cooked all day yesterday. Then their friends came over yesterday and I got very excited when I smelled all the yummy food. Like, stuff I NEVER see in our doghouse on wheels, starting with Turkey! Dude, I wanted to eat everything but I guess nobody heard my stomach growling.

Tripawd, German Shepherd, Thanksgiving, pie
Dude, did you not hear my stomach growling yesterday?

Mom and Dad and their friends put me inside the doghouse on wheels while THEY went to eat all the good stuff. Can you believe that? I mean, why didn’t they invite ME?

When they were outside, I smelled something good. Mom must have thought that little baby gate was going to keep me away from it I guess. But when I put my giant schnoz to work and saw they forgot to take the pies over to the dining tent, I figured I’d help them out a little. After all, no humans need to eat that much, right?

German Shepherd Thankgiving pie
Mom makes really good pies!

So I moved the pies from their hiding place and guess what I did? Yep. I. Ate. The. Pies. Yes, that’s “Pie” with a “S”. Oh my dawg dude, the pecan and pumpkin pies Mom made were to DIE FOR.

And when my people came inside to get the rest of the food and saw that I ate the pies, they almost killed me!

German Shepherd Thankgiving pie
I even cleaned up all the crumbs!

Luckily, I didn’t die. I’m feeling a little woozy today but after everything I’ve eaten (like a road flare and shorts, for starters), my stomach is coated with iron. Nothing can take me down! Not even two Thanksgiving pies.

Even after I helped them with dinner, I didn’t get ANY of that turkey. Aren’t they so mean?

 

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