Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Boz doesn't particularly care about my feet. Shoes, however--shoes he does take an interest in. If I'm wearing my slippers, he knows I'm staying home. He can relax. No change is on the wind.
But if I put on a pair of shoes, he needs to know which ones and why. If they're my good shoes, are we going to Hollywood and does he get to go? If they're the walking shoes that smell like mud and weeds, I'd better put them on last unless I want him to follow me around the house until I've collected the camera, water bottle, sun visor and leash because he knows those shoes mean fun and he expects to get some.
Boz has shoes. He once injured his foot and had to wear a bandage while it healed. He could still walk, and we wanted to get him a shoe to keep his bandage clean. The only thing we found in his size were little doggy cowboy boots, and the store sold them exclusively in sets of four. We only have a couple of pictures.