Burger’s addicted to rawhide bones. So addicted that every night he literally waits for me to give him one (we store them in the Parsons desk).
Never have I seen this dog have such focus and determination about one single object.
It’s as if tearing each bone apart is his life’s work. And his legacy is on the line every night.
Perhaps my favorite part of his ritual is how his front paws are forced to be as hand-like as possible. Gripping that thing, doing their darndest to hold it in place.
But hey, as long as he’s happy.
That is, until I step barefoot on a half-eaten stick that he gave up on and it stabs me in the heel.
If you ever had any doubt that Burger could impersonate a talking horse, here’s proof that (except for his distinctly un-equine appearance) he’s got that moving-his-mouth-so-others-can-speak-for-him thing down. All you’ve gotta do is wait for him to get a treat stuck in his back teeth…
We’re well into potty training with Clara (she sits on the potty regularly and occasionally there’s success). So it’s safe to say that she’s familiar with the concept and comfortable with the idea that the potty is where the poop goes (although she seems to love the novelty of Burger getting to poop outside). So sometimes she brings it up…
And if you couldn’t tell, the little ditty Clara sings at the end (“bah-da-duh, bah-da-duh, bah-da-duh, baaah”) is the intro to “Thrift Shop” which Clara picked up when I was singing along to it on the radio earlier that day.