I've said it once and I'll say it again, I may have the worst dog in America. It's not that Santana's yappie or annoying, he just doesn't care. And not because he's flighty or unintelligent, he literally chooses not to care. I can see his thought process all the time.
Like this time around Christmas when I bought him a santa suit (and I totally do not ever dress him up...it cost a dollar and was super cute so why not?) Once I finally got him in it, he looked uber precious!!! When I went to go and take a picture, just one picture to send to my mom, he kept showing me his back.
Here....
and here....
AND here....
Look at him laying there! Like he lives the worst life ever. He lives in a high-rise, in downtown Chicago for Pete's sake! He gets to go to the bathroom (when he DECIDES not to go in the house) on a real, red, fire hydrant, something other dogs dream of. Any who, I love him to death and call him my "Little Douchebag". Which is probably way inappropriate but every night, after all of the trials and tribulations we go through during the day, he licks my cheek before nestling up next to me to go to sleep. (I haven't found a man who remembers to do that yet so.....) (Wait I mean kiss me goodnight. Not a lick my on cheek. Egh...you know what I meant)
Let's have a toast for my Douchebag....salute.
Love.
