The Dog Whisperer

My mother once said to my father, "Bob, you turn every animal you have into a neurotic mess"

My mother has been gone for six and a half years now so she can't (or can she?) see just how my father is doing with his current crop of four footed beasties.

She also told him that after she died she just knew he was going to fill the house with dogs and cats.

I'm not sure if three dogs and three cats qualifies as 'filling' the house--but it sure feels filled with animals since we moved in here. He has a Rhodesian Ridgeback named Amy, a tiny Beagle named Two Chip and now we've added our Black Lab Cassie to the mix.

The animals adore him---especially when he has food. In the picture below he's holding one of the snickerdoodles I'd baked as three pairs of adoring and hopeful eyes are turned on him. And yes, you're not seeing things. The kitchen is yellow. Bright, bright yellow.



And yes, he did share the cookies but I think he only shared with Amy as she is his favorite and seems to be in failing health. I hope she's not going to die because I fear what that will do to my father, the dog whisperer.