Ow-side?

Ow-side?

Ow-side?

Ow-side?

Dudes, I hear this ALL. DAY. Everyday. It is the sound of someone tiny, adorable, and partially coordinated wanting to go out. Fortunately, she’s too short to reach the regular round doorknobs just yet. We have several of the level-style doorknobs though and she can reach those. Can’t get them open just yet, but that’s just a matter of figuring out how to keep holding on while stepping back. Once she can grasp those round doorknobs though I’m going to have to put the childproof thingies on to keep her from letting the dogs out constantly.

I am a guard dog. See how I guard.

Or I could train my dog not to be a pain in the butt and to STOP BARKING AT THE FENCE. Oh, if only. Seriously. Some days the Hubbles grouses about wanting to take that barker back to the pound. Of course, he would miss the snuggles in the morning. He won’t miss the barking, the jumping, the accidentally knocking kids over, the counter surfing, the growling when a kid tries to climb on him or take his spot, or the rushing home from events and not traveling to others because we can’t afford to kennel the dogs. I love my dogs, I really do, but Tank is a handful. Matti? Not so much. And Matti is a dog that others wouldn’t mind dog-sitting. Tank is a different matter entirely.

This post is not about that though. This post is about ow-side.

Some day Pixie will be able to pronounce “outside” properly, and I will be both happy for her and her development and sad for yet another step towards losing my baby. I guess at that point Tank can be my baby. Do they make those doggy strollers and doggy outfits big enough for a 70 pound butthead?