Dog days.

Timber is a horrible backseat driver.

Timber is my dog. Not just in the hip, Randy from American Idol way, he is also the domestic animal that resides at my house with me and my wife. It is odd that I call him "mine" because he is definitely his own being. I think if he had his druthers (he doesn't anymore, he was neutered) he would live on his own in the swamp of the golf course near our house. He would feast on muskrats and rabbits (he has caught both) and would harass golfers by biting their legs and running off with their titleists.

Fortunately for us, he thinks we are cool and he lets us feed him and occasionally pet him, but only when he feels it is appropriate. He is very independent, and likes to survey his kingdom from interesting vantage points.

Timber, asleep on the very desk I am typing this from.

Timber is 6 now, and thankfully out of the puppy stage, but he still has quite a bit of energy. He likes to run, and whines incessantly if he does not get his typical 4-5 mile allotment per day. If he is really hard up for a run, he scratches the walls. Or the couch. Or your face. He doesn't care which.

He gets crazy when he gets the Syrup in him.

Thankfully, today we went for a long run. After an hour or so of terrorizing every squirrel in the town, Timber can rest peacefully in the back of the snot rocket.

Now all is well in Laps land..............until tomorrow.