Sir Barnabus MacDufflePants

This is a post about my stupid dog Barney.

Ohh Barney, Barney, Barney.

If ever I need a moment of entertainment I like to look at Peter Pan and see what he can come up with for me. Usually he's doing something weird, like analyzing the pattern of the wood grain on the furniture or sitting forlornly under the bag of doggie toys hung just out of his reach making needy eyes at me. That dog is always thinking about something, you know. You can stare into Peter's beady little eyes and see the depths of the oceans, the heights of the mountains, the eternities of the Heavens, the square root of Pi. He is just a weird little dog.

And then, there's Barney.

Barney is stupid.

You stare into Barneys eyes and all you see is liquid goofiness.

Sometimes The Holbs calls him Blackey and I think that sounds horribly racist. I promise my husband is not a racist. 

Barnaby MacDuff joined our family on a stupid day in July. I can't really say what possessed us to go into the pet store that day. We were just tooling around town coming up with random things to entertain ourselves with ("Wanna get a soda?" "Sure!" "Wanna walk the mall?" "Sure!" "Wanna buy a dog?" "Why not?") and then there we were, staring into the eyes of the cutest, sweetest, tiniest, stupidest little baby Scottie.

He was only barely six weeks old, which is a travesty if you know anything about puppy development. We saw that little dude sitting there in that cold metal cage and I just knew it was too soon for him, that he was grieving and alone, that he needed littermates, that he needed a mama.

So we brought that dog home so I could breastfeed him.

When Barnaby sits it is not with the daintiness of a tender Peter Pan, who sits almost in slow motion, his back erect, his ears perked just-so. If Peter Pan had pinkies they would constantly be up. When Barnaby sits he just collapses onto the ground with a heavy THUNK, legs spewed every which way. Either it is deliberate or not, I haven't decided. Maybe he selects his resting spot ahead of time and then artfully dives into it or something? Or else maybe he is just ambling along with no preconceived strategy to life until something deep within his psyche shouts FALL! and then, thunk.

 I guess depending on your perspective on life it is either one of these things.

Sometimes I like to play a little game with Barnaby when he is laying on the couch. I stand in front of him with my arms folded and just look at him. The minute we make eye contact his tail is rotating fast enough to propel a small jet airliner. Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk it goes against the back of the couch, his eyes open as wide as they will go while he lays there like a dead fish. I turn my back to him and the thunking slows, until it stops and he sighs. I give him a minute and then I turn around again and look at him, and whump-whump-whump-whump goes his tail against the couch again. I can do this for hours.

Barnaby MacDuff will make you fall in love. 

Barnaby MacDuff is always getting himself into trouble. It is like trouble follows him around, fascinated by the amount of things it can convince Barney into doing. 

Whenever people come to the house I have to ask them,

Who is your favorite?

I know what kind of person you are

By which dog you select.

There's no real right answer

(Except there totally is.)

So, I'm curious.

Indulge me?