However, that means I am officially an elder-bull, which just means I'm getting older. If eight makes one an elder-bull, what does SIXTY-EIGHT make one? Huh, mama, huh, huh?
I knew it was my birthday because I got a visit from Wendy...and I don't mean Auntie Wendy.
I enjoyed a nice plain hamburger on the deck!
My papa went to buy some wood for a new bed he's making me and mama dragged out her pit-chur-taking machine, which I hate.
First, she made me wear a stupid bandana.
And then added an even more stupid birthday hat.
I think it's quite obvious how I feel about the hat (it isn't even a new hat, it's left over from last year!) Seriously?
Here's what I think of your stilly hat...
This is how I prefer to have my pit-chur taken with the hat...
I kind of figure...if I don't see it, it's not there...right?
Mother Nature sent me a little something to share this embarrassing moment
He totally jumped on my very private part but I didn't even notice I was so taken trying to avoid the hat! My mama breathed a sigh of relief when she was able to shoo it on it's way before I freaked out.
I made my get away and made mama chase me and play tug with me in return for being good under the watchful eye of the pit-chur taker.
|Does this bandana make me look fat?|
Not only did I get a hamburger, but I got two new collars that look like this...
and two new toys...a chicken from Tractor Supply (thanks Auntie Wendy for telling my people about this) and a new squeaky ally-gator.
The ally-gator has SIXTEEN squeakers! That's two squeakers for every year I've been alive.
I played and played after dinner.
Then I had to rest, birthday's are exhausting.
Until next time...Sir Titan of Nottingham CGC TT