Meet Bo and Billy, our furkids. They're my family, my best friends, my officemates and my roommates. They are my constant company and I love them immeasurably. Without tooting my own horn I can attest the feeling is mutual: they adore me in return.
I want to share how much pleasure they bring me and how entertaining they are, because when the family is out and I'm all by my lonesome, I feel selfish getting all the laughs and canine kookiness no one else gets to enjoy.
With Bo in particular, that long-legged goofball who naps in the most ridiculously contorted positions, the giggle factor stays high on the daily. But my Billy, the handsomest dog to ever photograph so badly, who is always standing guard on the perimeter (a self-appointed post), also entertains me to no end.
They're both rescued dogs, which for us was a great choice... and it was for both of them too, as it were.
A.k.a. Mr. Bojangles, Bosie-Boy, Bobo, Bosephine.
|The day Bo mysteriously took to sitting in the bathtub.|
Providence: Montreal SPCA.
Age: Approximately 8.
More of his kind: He's most likely a Greater Swiss Mountain Dog. Not a shaved Bernese Mountain Dog, which some smarty-pants in a dog park insisted he was.
Weight: about 75lbs
Favorite question: Why would this empty plastic bag attack me?
Likes: Kiana Joy. Hilary's armpits. Lindsay's cuddles. Soft blankets, preferably warm. Sucking sensually on his dog bed (eww). Drinking water from the bathtub faucet. Spooning. Riding shotgun in the car. Happy tunes, especially the made-up ones about him. Eating poop (his own or another being's... he has an adventurous palate). Dancing. Barking suddenly for no reason. Sleeping on his back on the couch.
Dislikes: Getting into trouble. Thunderstorms, fireworks. Busy streets. Public transit. The thunk of our mailbox. Throwing up. Strangers. Tall men. People in wheelchairs or on skateboards. Shouting. Filing paperwork. Getting snapped at by anybody, especially Timmy or Billy. Doors closing on his tail. Doors. The sight of our suitcases. Earning his keep.
Note: Bosie can also be used as a verb, akin to feeling mildly confused and/or duped. For example, after my dear friend and I recently saw the movie "Now You See Me" with its surprise twist ending, we felt like we'd been Bosie'd. Alternately, you can say 'don't try to Bosie me!' when you're onto someone trying to pull a fast one on you.
Update: Sweet Bosie became very sick just after Christmas of 2013. He stopped eating and seemed very uncomfortable. A visit to the vet confirmed the worst: a massive cancerous growth in his stomach, unable to be operated on. He passed away peacefully, surrounded by his loved ones, on January 25, 2014.
A.k.a. Bill-Bill. Billy-Boy. Big Boy. Billaphina. Buddy. Billy Jean Is Not My Lover. Billy Vanilli. Bilbo Baggins.
|Billy looking especially peaceful before this nice fluffy rug was trashed.|
Place of birth: Quebec, Canada.
Providence: Monteregie SPCA.
Age: Approximately 7.
More of his kind: Yellow Lab.
Weight: not fit for a standard scale.
Height: not a lot.
Soundtrack: E-Z listening 80's radio standards.
Likes: Garbage of any description, with a special affinity for past-due moldy foodstuffs. Lethal-to-dogs foods like chocolate and green grapes. Opening the fridge door for a look-see inside. Eating a pound of butter, still wrapped. Anything Lindsay. Most crotches. Visitors we greet warmly. Spooning, especially with Hilary or Mummy. Daddy cradling him like a baby. Car rides. Happily thumping his tail. Knocking Kiana to the ground with said wagging tail. Contemplating life, seated in the grass. Sniffing the breeze. Swimming. All day naps in the sunshine.
Dislikes: The aftermath of eating a pound of butter, still wrapped. The vacuum. Other dogs, especially small ones (Timmy excepted) and any that get all up in his grill. Having to make nicey-nicey while on a walk. Squirrels getting away. Having his nails cut. Taxes. Getting into trouble. People and animals who don't think before they act. Anyone approaching our front door. The sight of our suitcases.
Note 1: When we lived in an apartment, Billy once ran down the stairs, out the door and right into a stranger's car. He has run away from home several times and is always hysterically happy when we find him, like each runaway attempt was an unintentional horrific mistake.
Note 2: Billy actually screams like a little girl when he sees Lindsay or Hilary.
* * * * *
Ok. So here's what I'm talking about. Everyday, when I take bathroom or snack breaks from work, I come looking for them to give the each a kiss on the head.
Here are some examples of what I find.
|Sunshiny spots are Bo's kryptonite.|
|I mean really.|
|Are we boring you, Bill?|
|The rogue foot|
|The flipped back ear|
|This look is always followed by a loud thump-thump-thump of the tail|
|and now he's on the bed.|
So there you have it.
The rumors are true.
Dogs really do nap and lounge around all day while you're out busting somebody's chops.
* * * * *
As for me, even with the daily tumbleweeds of fur (and believe me when I tell you that they are copious and discouraging), even with the propensity for spilled garbage (see below), even when Bo crams himself into a space he must be helped out of (i.e. the foot-well on the driver's side of the car, under the bed), and even though I know all this gladness won't last forever, none of it matters because when they go to sleep at the foot of my bed every night, and begin to snore, I know that my world is happy, and filled with love, and I am safe and comforted. All is well.
* * * * *
More dog love:
|happily listening to the sprinkler|
|Bo always wears his party hat... his pointy head.|
|taking in the crisp morning air|
|the door is open. to them this means a wild adventure awaits.|
|not even kidding.|
|Can anyone tell me what this is about?|