I give you THIS!!!
And maybe this,
But most of all, THIS...
Isn't he just the sweetest thing you've ever seen? Forget for a moment that he's probably rubbing his fur in some sort of wild animal's feces and just bask in his cuteness.
While Jason has meetings on Sunday I get to take my Hanky-poo for walks. All alone. Consequently, these couple of hours have turned into somewhat of a lovefest for him and me. Unfortunately, Hank loves his walks more than he loves me, so I spend most of my time chasing him, but all I ask is that he lets me adore him.
Luckily, the Bonneville Shoreline trail usually doesn't have too many passersby on these occasions, because sometimes my love for him can get a bit fierce. Like when I was standing by the fence and I yelled something like "cootsie boy!!!" as he was doing something particularly adorable, and the sound of my voice actually caused snow to actually tumble off the chains. Actually.
It kind of reminds me of this scene in Love Potion Number 9 when the trampy girl coughs in the back of the chapel and all the guys freak out with their lust. Except I don't lust Hank. No. I don't lust my dog.
It doesn't get good until at least 2 minutes, but this whole movie is a gem.
Despite the fact that I was kind of embarrassed that my love for my dog can reach such powerful decibels, I've never been one to hide my obsession with animals under a bushel. In fact, quite the contrary. Ever since I've been able to talk I've been shouting and pointing at animals around me, especially those of the four-legged variety.
And when Hank sticks his face in the snow like this:
coming up looking like he's a wolf wearing a grandma costume, I'm not at all embarrassed to say something like "my what big poopies you have!"
But this love for animals wasn't at all influenced by anyone around me growing up. In fact, I wanted a dog so badly that I finally resorted to acting like a dog, on all fours, meals on the ground, collar, tail and all, until my parents finally gave in.
It wasn't until a couple of years ago when I read a little paper with some information on my birth parents that I saw that of all the interests my birth mother could have written about herself, she wrote that she loved animals.
So even if I'll probably never meet the woman who baked me in her oven, every time I freak out about a dog on the side of the road or google image search "happy puppies" when I'm at work, I can remember that there is some lady out there who passed on this unconditional love for things that defecate in inconvenient places.
And who also made me wall-toed: