Those Silly Humans

Callie, that Queen of all Dogs who rules over Preston and me (I exaggerate, but only slightly. We are totally whipped.), took a series of positively adorable photographs this afternoon.

They basically sum up Callie's attitude towards life, at least as I interpret it. That is, "What are these ridiculous humans going to do to me now? Seriously, ANOTHER picture? And my God, the Short One. If she kisses me on the head one more time, I swear. I'll really start groaning. And here comes the Tall One. He's probably going to taunt me by saying W-A-L-K really slowly, or making me sit for a piece of the pepperoni off his pizza. They're both so predictable. Can't they just leave me alone, so that I can curl up on my nice, comfortable comforter, and rest my wearied head on the crisp, cool, 800-thread count pillows? Or...OH NO! Is it that time of day when they BOTH try to put their legs under my comforter and then lie completely still, in the dark, for 6 hours? When will they learn?"

This is, in my opinion, the world according to Callie. She does love to attack a Greenie, paw ferociously at the rug, shed EVERYWHERE (whoever said that short-haired dogs don't shed was LYING. Viciously.), and jump on every piece of furniture in the apartment before her W-A-L-K, but, generally, she's pretty phlegmatic. She's seems to be wearied with the world; most especially, with ridiculous people like Preston and me, who spend so much time and energy kissing her head, rubbing her belly, and taking billions of pictures of her.

Nevertheless, Callie, as much as I exhaust you with all my kisses and nuzzles and fawning exclamations of love ("Did you just see Callie move her paw, Preston? Amazing!!" From my tone you would expect that I had just seen pigs fly into the kitchen. Nope. Just the dog. Moving a paw.), I'm never going to stop. I don't know what your history is, but I do know that something happened to you early on in life to make you mistrust every new person you meet. And that breaks my heart. And there's a good chance that you might never trust new people again. Ever. And that's OK, because I'm pretty sure, in the past five months, you've learned to trust us, and, despite your impassive attitude, I think you've even learned to love us.

I love you so much that my heart could burst. Seriously. And anyone who thinks I'm exaggerating needs to go get a dog from a shelter and nurse it back to health and happiness IMMEDIATELY. Your heart will also turn to liquid goo, I promise.

So, Callie, even though I am ridiculous, and take more pictures of you than Preston (or, really, anything/anyone), and kiss you whenever I walk into a room, and call you 'pupple,' and disrupt your naps to nuzzle up against the soft fur behind your ear, know that I love you unconditionally, and that I will never, ever leave you.

You are the Queen.