It’s not a Pogo, it’s a corndog.

I understand that Canadians call a batter coated hot dog, a Pogo. I occasionally like to have a . . . corndog. In the States they are called corndogs. That is what I am used to. More so, this guy is why I will always call them corndogs.

This guy came into my life in 2006. He was yellow, he was round, and he was a dog. Ergo ipso facto, I named him Corndog. He were the bestus sweetus boyus.

So it’s not a pogo, it’s a corndog. End of story. 🙂

Lucy, update.

It turned out to be a small scrape on the pad, rendering it sensitive. Since she was largely back to normal by Monday, Labour Day, we decided to continue watching through the week. She’s fine, back to her normal self. Here she is tonight, watching the world go by.

We’re pleased that she is her old self.

What a smart girl.

The dogs and I played outside. Lucy had her ball. Then we went inside; she did not have her ball.

Later, after dark, I let the dogs out for their last pee break. Before that I put them into a sit stay. Lucy looked up at the top of the clothes washer where we keep dog toys. She was looking for her ball. I said no it’s not up there it’s outside.

I said ‘Find your ball!’ Then I let her out, repeating ‘Find your ball!’ And less than two minutes later she brought it back.

What a smart girl.