tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183694222024-03-07T18:33:25.380-08:00Daisy's LifeDaisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-54970020507399058732007-03-02T08:02:00.000-08:002008-12-10T00:56:54.044-08:00Oh My God, They Changed The Cuz<div align="center">What follows is a comparason of a new cuz (light purple) to an old cuz (dark purple) that I have had for a while.<br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1HtXhLM_R2wf3VtR-sAHNvqhi4QqHVE4uDFdrVE5Gu76zqA9Cvcd_9Uvd6aYadDWxX0y3NIWPYfsiPhaEe23_WMoPrUsWeHjbOTOkaNNzkhMMfmB7tvyqbD4SC59Zu-jM6Wczmw/s1600-h/IMG_0802.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037359647717018674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1HtXhLM_R2wf3VtR-sAHNvqhi4QqHVE4uDFdrVE5Gu76zqA9Cvcd_9Uvd6aYadDWxX0y3NIWPYfsiPhaEe23_WMoPrUsWeHjbOTOkaNNzkhMMfmB7tvyqbD4SC59Zu-jM6Wczmw/s320/IMG_0802.jpg" border="0" /></a> They moved the squeeker. It was on the bottom, between the feet but now it's on the back.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUva4ZEaKr41YNMI4Dge9F2WYvOmIwrKiwS3IkAkpbG7w7WYV06SXRne75TNRbuA8V1HvzKobfuYXsx9vU3A9sxPbgWqo49LaUmujOjGAV56oJwl4Y1fLSRfslEdYlyd7WEBATA/s1600-h/IMG_0817.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037359656306953282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUva4ZEaKr41YNMI4Dge9F2WYvOmIwrKiwS3IkAkpbG7w7WYV06SXRne75TNRbuA8V1HvzKobfuYXsx9vU3A9sxPbgWqo49LaUmujOjGAV56oJwl4Y1fLSRfslEdYlyd7WEBATA/s320/IMG_0817.jpg" border="0" /></a> They also changed the feet. They used to be solid and seperated and now they are hollow and connected.<br /><p></p><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8UfREeDWu4kg8e8IhI0LMIwiS_qEobA1eVLqkX71OI0AD95zQeeD1j5hm7mJ_70TeiisyZ4XWhj71bHId-5SCbbNGt1YqeSuhDG5IBZwPMVGw4tFJzHiy56mP0bkvDuCtY0uNKQ/s1600-h/Misc+Daisy+004.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037359639127084066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8UfREeDWu4kg8e8IhI0LMIwiS_qEobA1eVLqkX71OI0AD95zQeeD1j5hm7mJ_70TeiisyZ4XWhj71bHId-5SCbbNGt1YqeSuhDG5IBZwPMVGw4tFJzHiy56mP0bkvDuCtY0uNKQ/s320/Misc+Daisy+004.jpg" border="0" /></a> Needless to say, I am ticked off. </div></div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-54492022787710630472007-02-14T16:38:00.000-08:002008-12-10T00:56:54.226-08:00V-Day<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU1V53Zb4FHHbGw_gQR4Q_DPWPAwULP-Wy0AiyvjRjeBEW7x7-3uz8dzEFdtG2YVPm4RmTDvXNBr1xwyNXn_A2-K5vbp79b7WivpLGU9H5005BGigJnWxj1hjSModF4wGPOEo-CQ/s1600-h/vday+4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031553973025796882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU1V53Zb4FHHbGw_gQR4Q_DPWPAwULP-Wy0AiyvjRjeBEW7x7-3uz8dzEFdtG2YVPm4RmTDvXNBr1xwyNXn_A2-K5vbp79b7WivpLGU9H5005BGigJnWxj1hjSModF4wGPOEo-CQ/s320/vday+4.jpg" border="0" /></a> Happy Valentine's Day everyone. I hope it was a good one. Mine was lonely, I didn't have a valentine. Well, I didn't have a guy valentine. My mom and I decided to be each others valentine. She got me some cookies and I got her a bottle of this stuff called Arbor Mist. I don't know what it is and she won't let me try any of it.<br /></div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-90983982269460152652007-01-25T16:56:00.000-08:002008-12-10T00:56:54.727-08:00Artsy-Fartsy<div align="center">Mom was taking pictures today. Again. She was trying to be all artsy. <div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024137570940437042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMG0QtdkuxuDdqGPrnft2BuX9Gq-Y6w7Gc9IyT4_KMByhLFPqOXfge8Vn2T0lQft2AYfWck3wgWm8QoIkU35yclgTQRhUwOfc4Mfpor9-jWzM45iTMeMRHcOc-KA6IpeDoRDZCg/s320/Misc+Daisy+56.jpg" border="0" /> She really likes this one. <div align="center"><br /><br /><p></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024137575235404354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkB52ssjzH2cnqxfhja2CY2FiOOEaBj49cRs7ve_wsUdLkDf1gFVMz12GAMSok5-NKpWbyVtMLD8g4hfNf2MpmKs0k9weZy7ex_GbnsM_g0vo-j3DPuWSOv211usFmnXkI6ok3cg/s320/Misc+Daisy+60.jpg" border="0" /> I have a really nice profile, if I do say so myself. <div align="center"><br /><br /><p></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024137579530371666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga1Mi-uOWLHgwwVVOUYToO6oLF2bkSqKv6swKwuTwc8YD-gWUNgKUDJOpxp7tdn_v4L3PlPo_AjR_WKee5pJgLNq5FjE1dSvIOWqKxTRiBJvekAl8As7id48_hGjzCxmt0Ow8iZA/s320/Misc+Daisy+61.jpg" border="0" />This is when I got tired of her snapping the camera and stuck out my tounge at her. It didn't get her to stop though, she just laughed at it. </div></div></div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-35496798527232378222007-01-16T18:01:00.000-08:002008-12-10T00:56:55.774-08:00Is There A Doctor In The House?!<div align="center">I have booboos from head to toe. Well, from chin to chest at least.<br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirq52KZJnVesxb6_byl-HHUbHqyPxUl37pHJXWxU5ksVSQqSL9-mR_WR3P5ZK_eATQnS29ySlWnMzbR1f0qClgE1Vwc3GLF8a8p32HMY5KG3rObAj7Wy_ghiQOKukfvDT7B5K5pA/s1600-h/booboo+1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020815535312068786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirq52KZJnVesxb6_byl-HHUbHqyPxUl37pHJXWxU5ksVSQqSL9-mR_WR3P5ZK_eATQnS29ySlWnMzbR1f0qClgE1Vwc3GLF8a8p32HMY5KG3rObAj7Wy_ghiQOKukfvDT7B5K5pA/s320/booboo+1.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>I got this from trying to chase a squirrel up a tree. On the way down I scraped my chest on the bark. The squirrel probably meant for this to happen.<br /></p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjOTAk8fapRrOwc5xP2qduy2TQqex31GV9i29NKZYlQjzRF2uIZ55ort5ThVoAdTu1zW4QxKe4xPJ_sfmbwEKa_rdK767agpriQMtUgeqGCCUikoNlZEilC-5QsBhz_4bNCxARAg/s1600-h/booboo+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020815526722134178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjOTAk8fapRrOwc5xP2qduy2TQqex31GV9i29NKZYlQjzRF2uIZ55ort5ThVoAdTu1zW4QxKe4xPJ_sfmbwEKa_rdK767agpriQMtUgeqGCCUikoNlZEilC-5QsBhz_4bNCxARAg/s320/booboo+2.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>And mom has no idea how I got this booboo on my chin and I'm not telling her either. A dog has to have some secrets. Mom keeps putting stuff on my booboos and saying things like "at least they're not where you can lick them Daisy." Have I mentioned that I think my mom is crazy?</p>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-46292364043394991902007-01-11T18:10:00.000-08:002008-12-10T00:56:55.851-08:00New Boston Terrier Site<div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5018960912599081106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiHH_NQVO0abOVd_ShTw01nR_mSC94uTbgCSQgAmEiWo2IO-lhk2Yhz_CcMapzQuW9IRDI87s_7mnscq8blAUzhtclVQsofdAgx31NzWDiX6753D6qINlCnLz4Ox3wFroeIyGtHA/s320/What+I+do+while+mom+types.jpg" border="0" />So I was hanging out with my mom today while she was on the computer. This is also where I dictate my blog entries from. While she was messing around she found a new Boston Terrier site to go to. It's a message board for people who like us Boston Terriers. (it's the second link under Boston Terrier Message Boards) Mom was already a member at Woof and Boston Love but this is a new site that just started up. Mom thinks it will be fun to watch it grow and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">develop</span>. You other Boston Terrier out there tell your people to go check it out. I'm going to go check out my pig ear chew. </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">And ignore my rolls. I'm not chubby, it was just the way I was sitting. I work hard to maintain my girlish figure.</div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-83142259768903559302007-01-08T19:37:00.000-08:002008-12-10T00:56:55.961-08:00Humiliation and a Crazy Parent<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7315tx_pkcM7b2swl3FQBslzmWcbmbQD1wPS9QJaCa4Dy-QOMJL1OiZfoSFdd6izwwPocDhtx_f-iBPEx5B67NJEBr4QdI7IIrycR6NPQ8ueWZddpUjojD28fMB_q-ZVsYBLUw/s1600-h/Leia+or+ET.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5017869768068639778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7315tx_pkcM7b2swl3FQBslzmWcbmbQD1wPS9QJaCa4Dy-QOMJL1OiZfoSFdd6izwwPocDhtx_f-iBPEx5B67NJEBr4QdI7IIrycR6NPQ8ueWZddpUjojD28fMB_q-ZVsYBLUw/s320/Leia+or+ET.jpg" border="0" /></a>I’m not even going to explain this one. Not that I could. I don’t understand what inspires my mom to do some of the things she does. Needless to say, I was humiliated. And it was a humiliation on top of a bath. And what was my mom doing while I was being humiliated you ask? She was giggling, snickering, and muttering things like “E.T. phone home” and “may the force be with you.” Mom has officially gone off the deep end. Does anyone know where I can get a strait jacket and a padded room? </div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-50339532906674918952006-12-30T07:34:00.000-08:002008-12-10T00:56:56.245-08:00Cuz Collection<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0rGtnq2OEuF1bMxwvGQkcJvd8W8BrPJTBnjz98ebdBfJMnQhD6fhZpE12naivVxOuyjl5X3_b1xrsWmnEnrrfnHxcFyP_EnhRFbkDtq2LxuxeKRbpd0pcSowQN4gK8n5VMEYWQ/s1600-h/cuz.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014343996254603298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0rGtnq2OEuF1bMxwvGQkcJvd8W8BrPJTBnjz98ebdBfJMnQhD6fhZpE12naivVxOuyjl5X3_b1xrsWmnEnrrfnHxcFyP_EnhRFbkDtq2LxuxeKRbpd0pcSowQN4gK8n5VMEYWQ/s400/cuz.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />These are my Cuz. I love my Cuz, I love that delicious rubbery goodness. Actually, the two on the left aren’t Cuz but they're made by the same people who make Cuz so they're Cuz to me. All of the little ones and the FrankinCuz have lost their squeakers but I still love them anyway. I didn't realize that I had this many till mom got them all out to take a picture of. She now says that she is not getting me anymore till I tear up, or otherwise destroy, at least half of my present collection. And seeing as I have never even damaged a single one that will probably not happen anytime soon. Mom says that I need to go into Cuz rehab.</div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-16512084489421094502006-12-28T17:32:00.000-08:002008-12-10T00:56:56.897-08:00On Duty<div align="center">I work very hard. I am on duty all day, every day, I never take a break. I was even on duty on Christmas. That is how seriously I take my job.<br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-swDevOEQdZVjak5wPVOZxX8H4N6pfANieMX3BtqkcLs4G0PJT4LhSebsJy2-PRsQjh6zb7gYc1BaVAkw5DYhAQ9jTka39wGOw-HH0QIgCa5QXvzm1xCQI5YIawCqy2UrSrn9gQ/s1600-h/SW+1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013756633707071506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-swDevOEQdZVjak5wPVOZxX8H4N6pfANieMX3BtqkcLs4G0PJT4LhSebsJy2-PRsQjh6zb7gYc1BaVAkw5DYhAQ9jTka39wGOw-HH0QIgCa5QXvzm1xCQI5YIawCqy2UrSrn9gQ/s320/SW+1.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>I guard my backyard from the outside. </p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwPARtjw34c1ArLi5a7DzqLaAf9xN94KVerjpQ4to5dUuO4rQl_sMNW6Y-ngWPDEo2FEq1u9jhCNzzYmNiwrs8AKB_1yELg7co7cyKFE2GnkROM3o4M-ssyT_w510ytvyUpaBibA/s1600-h/SW+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013756620822169602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwPARtjw34c1ArLi5a7DzqLaAf9xN94KVerjpQ4to5dUuO4rQl_sMNW6Y-ngWPDEo2FEq1u9jhCNzzYmNiwrs8AKB_1yELg7co7cyKFE2GnkROM3o4M-ssyT_w510ytvyUpaBibA/s320/SW+2.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>I guard my backyard from the inside. </p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3iAr0byiPmmVo_mjIpxHhZLaEXuzUyiLo6fJdi9Xj0Wvs4lWiYQlKZY7A-BA6_oXIN3X891m4xXsxnZXWddUdA3Zi9hxQWnJDRxdc0upNA4KwtOE_DCwU_oSzMKFiWNfufpqvjQ/s1600-h/SW+3.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013756569282562034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3iAr0byiPmmVo_mjIpxHhZLaEXuzUyiLo6fJdi9Xj0Wvs4lWiYQlKZY7A-BA6_oXIN3X891m4xXsxnZXWddUdA3Zi9hxQWnJDRxdc0upNA4KwtOE_DCwU_oSzMKFiWNfufpqvjQ/s320/SW+3.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>I even protect the inside of my house from scary hats. It's because of me that my mom can sleep at night. Yes, I am an awesome guard dog.</p>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-49496904224154606892006-12-25T16:09:00.000-08:002008-12-10T00:56:57.840-08:00Christmas<div align="center">Well it’s that time of year again, Christmas. I like Christmas, mostly. I like getting stuff and getting to eat more stuff. But I always have to pose and deal with mom and her flashy box thing. It was even worse this year because she got a new flashy box thing.<br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY1ibFZprs_OFptD_z9aUo9wQWjEYcbo8CG9iV1BRUo6KmzFvTmW4A8C_FcMWO4reM-gZkDh8O3q1-n0My8uD3loQ5tqT0Ca_aKgE140WESAwILBRqNjQj6QYctAucmTrKxul4fA/s1600-h/1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012621353591654322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY1ibFZprs_OFptD_z9aUo9wQWjEYcbo8CG9iV1BRUo6KmzFvTmW4A8C_FcMWO4reM-gZkDh8O3q1-n0My8uD3loQ5tqT0Ca_aKgE140WESAwILBRqNjQj6QYctAucmTrKxul4fA/s320/1.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>So this is me in one of my presents. I don’t mind clothes, I really don’t. They keep me warm so I’m ok with them. I just have a ticked off look in this picture because mom got me up early and kept flashing that thing in my face. Besides this sweater I also got a shirt that says "pampered" on the back.<br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012621877577664450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7goab8II0lDscmsRa3ozarI-P5qMTvA9KQDfT7mCJHOf2UWT8veBGAkeuoSUR1jnWgyRWw8Zz3qvSyH3GRl5f2GWM4LR2q-KLKoc5iQqlxIFNHmiSKTlSYrdxs3ZbrrfO9NcS3A/s320/2.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">This is me checking out another of my presents. It takes a while to get a new chewy stick broke in. Don’t worry though; I’m more than up to the task. I got two chewy sticks; mom wouldn’t let me have both at once though.<br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNfJxPvNPCuPy8ZVDJ6S_KxhGTQF-ic3K8hgFMLsNEd-gBXOt_w-r_bEzgB6Oqnk81SDHkemnicU6ibj_o7gtFbymkfs6fTz2cdvyb4H5tGvqbFjr5_mT5B64sDwxdLAIA-Dmetw/s1600-h/3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012622478873085906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNfJxPvNPCuPy8ZVDJ6S_KxhGTQF-ic3K8hgFMLsNEd-gBXOt_w-r_bEzgB6Oqnk81SDHkemnicU6ibj_o7gtFbymkfs6fTz2cdvyb4H5tGvqbFjr5_mT5B64sDwxdLAIA-Dmetw/s320/3.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>I also got a large cuz. I love cuz; I’m like Joey that way. I have quite a collection, but this is my first large one. I’m still figuring this thing out. I can’t get my mouth around it enough to squeak it. Not that it squeaks anyway, it makes a sound half way between a duck quacking and a fart. I have figured out how to carry it around by its feet though.<br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZBTnHzqKsVYY8-iA_ECxKwSEUB-7TtihJ1LGVerR_Pc7fhS6NfR0WXnsOt23Nbn-DKg6YD_-Q48dMo3F6JZ9ud59NiNHquIJS4HiEsW9ciSLrqKFJfxXsDnAxCqbCQqM9A3SP4w/s1600-h/4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012622508937856994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZBTnHzqKsVYY8-iA_ECxKwSEUB-7TtihJ1LGVerR_Pc7fhS6NfR0WXnsOt23Nbn-DKg6YD_-Q48dMo3F6JZ9ud59NiNHquIJS4HiEsW9ciSLrqKFJfxXsDnAxCqbCQqM9A3SP4w/s320/4.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>My mom’s dad made me a camouflage jacket. I have wanted a camouflage jacket for a while but mom couldn’t find me one. I wanted one so I could sneak up on the squirrels in the back yard. Now they won’t see me coming. Hehe, they don’t have a chance now.<br /><br />Besides all this stuff I also got some treats and a few stuffed toys. So it was a pretty good Christmas, except or mom getting her to flashy box. It also records movies with sound so as soon as she figures out how to post them on here she will.<br /><br />I almost forgot, another Daisy Mae and Buster both tagged me. Three things I want for Christmas and three things I don't.<br /><br />Three things I want:<br />1. My mom to take down all the scary Christmas decoration.<br />2. Not to have to get out of the nice warm bed in the morning.<br />3. I want to eat the same things for Christmas dinner as my family.<br /><br />Three things I don't want:<br />1. A pedicure.<br />2. To be forced to hork up mushrooms when I eat them in the backyard.<br />3. A bath.<br /><br />I'm not going to tag anyone becuse everyone else is already tagged or is going to get tagged.<br /><br />Merry Christmas Everyone!!!</p>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-85856752499687813312006-12-11T12:30:00.000-08:002008-12-10T00:56:58.016-08:00Big Cookie<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZeqACDob-Lh4NmMkE6lclEakmwj4TJqiICeJ0ASY0H2vudgQDQaunF2s4jOZuFiX0peC-j3OYJutFal16jV_gzOrnfEa9mfcpMTentOzwH3OR-wsfbWh7AdK148E6vRrREz3lQ/s1600-h/Cookie+the+size+of+my+head.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5007369626250304498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZeqACDob-Lh4NmMkE6lclEakmwj4TJqiICeJ0ASY0H2vudgQDQaunF2s4jOZuFiX0peC-j3OYJutFal16jV_gzOrnfEa9mfcpMTentOzwH3OR-wsfbWh7AdK148E6vRrREz3lQ/s320/Cookie+the+size+of+my+head.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">So, mom has been ticking me off lately. First she dresses me up as a pumpkin, then she wouldn't give me any turkey for thanksgiving. She won't keep decent hours so it's hard for me to get my beauty sleep too. She made me sit for a Christmas photo shoot and then she got paint on me. (well that last one might have been my fault but she shouldn't have put wet paint on the walls anyway) So just when I was starting to think that she couldn't do anything to get in my good graces again she goes and buys me a cookie the size of my head.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br />I love my mom.<br /></div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-6387950572002539572006-12-06T10:03:00.000-08:002008-12-10T00:56:58.145-08:00Painted<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3zGLdGJ0KSDI5SxLy7ZOWDIlnFjo4PuyC_0uC62hCm5WPS0C3qz4-FNHVQSitOTqNwef6SeNThMPhbw3fINOY30mx-19UuDMq53hNtniMhs8Sp4pGobu_823mpfLWItMBxA6CA/s1600-h/paint.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5005476301587012578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3zGLdGJ0KSDI5SxLy7ZOWDIlnFjo4PuyC_0uC62hCm5WPS0C3qz4-FNHVQSitOTqNwef6SeNThMPhbw3fINOY30mx-19UuDMq53hNtniMhs8Sp4pGobu_823mpfLWItMBxA6CA/s320/paint.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />This is want happens when Mom decides to play fetch before the paint is dry on the walls. </div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-57178403199245890972006-12-04T08:42:00.000-08:002008-12-10T00:56:58.304-08:00Dirty Look<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMk7mZB_lrMXP7aJazT5UeE-ZYrJK-HPXkbdTBDytOLj0-cFooWQiO2S07Au73AiBLIGVFRdjp8WHe1teUwcAUM0mo1LWs7tFfAm5SvOfCoRoHSU5qOKU10VB95Kwpq8i6YKYj1A/s1600-h/Pissed+off+x-mass+photo+shoot.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5004713291945818994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMk7mZB_lrMXP7aJazT5UeE-ZYrJK-HPXkbdTBDytOLj0-cFooWQiO2S07Au73AiBLIGVFRdjp8WHe1teUwcAUM0mo1LWs7tFfAm5SvOfCoRoHSU5qOKU10VB95Kwpq8i6YKYj1A/s320/Pissed+off+x-mass+photo+shoot.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />So, the other day mom decided that it would be a good thing to try to take a Christmas picture of me. She got out some Christmas stuff and made a set for me to pose in. However she forgot to ask me if I was in a mood to pose. I was not. She must have taken 30-40 pictures of me trying to get a good one and not a single one was good. They were either blurry, had me looking in a wrong direction or had me making a face like this. Let me just tell you guys that this was on purpose. I get tired of that flashy box that she keeps sticking in my face so I decided to ruin her photo shoot. I let her take a lot of cute pictures of me so I figured that she could stand to have one bad photo shoot.<br /><br />Mom says that for such a cute dog, I sure can shoot her some nasty looks. </div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-14212245969167495982006-12-02T18:07:00.000-08:002008-12-10T00:56:58.640-08:00Late Nights and Early Mornings<div align="center">My mom keeps some weird hours. One example is her bedtime, it is much too late. I, personally, suggest a bedtime of 8:00 PM at the latest. But mom insists on staying up a couple hours past me.<br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07qb9xk-E9BgNQ9ZGwHnEYqTaQB0NilVsPZ2cOBRdqKzUQr8PeezvDFbsbmkiBAOmcjFZC7We4VfxpXICZXjT3sh8kn9V8a7KScbljiW58lu9_8dtO9WtBYIPAu9m7p3WJZQ-3g/s1600-h/Waiting+for+mom+to+go+to+bed.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5004117841974868834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07qb9xk-E9BgNQ9ZGwHnEYqTaQB0NilVsPZ2cOBRdqKzUQr8PeezvDFbsbmkiBAOmcjFZC7We4VfxpXICZXjT3sh8kn9V8a7KScbljiW58lu9_8dtO9WtBYIPAu9m7p3WJZQ-3g/s320/Waiting+for+mom+to+go+to+bed.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a><br />I can't sleep without my mom so I have to wait for her. While I'm waiting I try to nap a little. Just because she doesn't get enough sleep doesn't mean I have to do without.<br />Also, she gets up way too early. I think anything before 11:00 AM is insane but she doesn't listen to me and gets up before the sun is even out. That is just crazy.<br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg47uiOC-tSEuCXvniXjUpBUk8YC9mG4niXFIPKjDozlzIS_VkJo2Bv03n7v9alAf_oLQjSihQDaOudqpTWOqoggs_WnEKzEbJUrO9z8uA8ZXsd-VA74SKuENq6WPG3LgNA-kRdHw/s1600-h/Mom+gets+up+to+early.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5004117837679901522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg47uiOC-tSEuCXvniXjUpBUk8YC9mG4niXFIPKjDozlzIS_VkJo2Bv03n7v9alAf_oLQjSihQDaOudqpTWOqoggs_WnEKzEbJUrO9z8uA8ZXsd-VA74SKuENq6WPG3LgNA-kRdHw/s320/Mom+gets+up+to+early.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a><br />Again, just because she doesn't get enough sleep doesn't mean that I have to get out of a warm bed on a cold morning. Wait, yes it does, she makes me go potty when she wakes up. That's it, I'm going to have to start slipping her something that will knock her out for about 12 hours.<br /><br />Any suggestions? </p>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-80931124212394743662006-11-30T06:19:00.000-08:002006-11-30T07:01:53.903-08:00Thanksgiving<div align="center">This is a bit late but here is my Thanksgiving post. ;)<br /><br /></div><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2958/2242/1600/132954/blah.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2958/2242/320/835047/blah.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a><br />I was a bit upset on Thanksgiving. My folks were cooking FABULOUS smelling food all day. Did they give me any? NO!!! They got to eat all that wonderful food and all I got was a special bowl to eat out of.<br /></p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2958/2242/320/129912/OCRGWS14729.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><br />So, in honor of Thanksgiving I have written a haiku to express my feelings.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">A Thanksgiving Haiku<br /><br />That turkey smells good.<br />What? You won't give me any?<br />I'll puke in your shoes. </span></p>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-63189779293100992702006-11-01T12:02:00.000-08:002006-11-01T12:13:03.681-08:00Halloween<div align="center"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/1600/Pumpkin%206.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/320/Pumpkin%206.jpg" border="0" /></a>Can someone explain this too me? What is my mom's fascination with dressing me up as stuff. I can understand the sweaters and stuff. I get a bit cold sometimes and I appreciate them. However this is just wrong. Last year it was a ballerina. I had thought (and hoped) it wouldn't get any worse. I was wrong.<br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/1600/Pumpkin%204.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/320/Pumpkin%204.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />See this look,<span style="font-family:Webdings;"> 5 </span>this is a pissed off look. This is a look that should tell mom that she should sleep with one eye open for awhile. However, I doubt that she will recognize what this look means. Thanks OK, that just makes it easier for me. </div></div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-19994599504241476952006-10-27T15:28:00.000-07:002006-11-01T12:14:46.885-08:00My Blog's Birthday<div align="center"><strong></strong><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/1600/Anni.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/320/Anni.jpg" border="0" /></a> Wow, my blog is a year old today. One year ago, on this day, I wrote my first entry. Well, actually, I had my mom type up my first entry as I dictated it to her. So much has happened this past year. I have grown up, defended my house from the squirrel invasion, and visited family and friends in several other states. And that's just a few of the many things I have done. Wow, what a busy year. I have also met a bunch of new friends both in person and on the web.<br /><br />Who knows what I will have done by this time next year.<br /><div align="center"></div></div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-85265900816604114402006-10-18T20:05:00.000-07:002006-10-18T20:31:43.531-07:00A Bad Day<div align="center">Today was a bad day. It started out good though. This morning I found a tasty treat in the back yard. Mom <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">interrupted</span> my snack when she came out of the house yelling "NO, STOP DAISY, COME, COME HERE RIGHT NOW, STOP EATING THAT, COME." I didn't know why she was yelling but I decided to go see what was up. When I got to her she put me inside and went and picked my snack. I was excited at first, I thought I was going to get to eat my snack in the comfort of the house but she wouldn't give it back to me. She just put it up on a table where I couldn't get to it.<br /><br /></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/320/shroom%202.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><br />That was pretty mean of her but it got worse after that. She went and got some stuff called <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Hydrogen</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Peroxide</span> and filled a syringe with some of it and SQUIRTED IT DOWN MY <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">THROAT</span>. She didn't do it once either. She waited a bit and did it again, for a total of four times. It's was really nasty stuff and made me feel really bad. After the forth time I felt so bad that I threw up. I guess that was what mom wanted me to do because she didn't make me take anymore. I felt cruddy for a while after that.<br /><br /></p><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/1600/Feeling%20cruddy.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/320/Feeling%20cruddy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Why is my mom so mean to me? All I wanted to do was snack on the funny looking things in the back yard. I don't think that's a reason to make me sick on purpose.Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-57084385548922390262006-10-06T11:21:00.000-07:002006-10-18T20:03:10.440-07:00Non-Pet Owners<div align="center"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/1600/happy%20face%201.1.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/320/happy%20face%201.1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><strong>Things to Think About for Non-Pet Owners Who Visit and Like to Complain About Me:<br /></strong><br />1. I live here. You don't.<br /><br />2. If you don't want my hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture.<br /><br />3. My mom like me a lot better than she like most people.</div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-13034257262085046002006-09-23T10:11:00.000-07:002006-09-23T10:14:27.662-07:00Points to Ponder #2<div align="center"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/1600/Deep%20thought.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/320/Deep%20thought.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Why do humans smell the flowers, but seldom if ever, smell <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">each other's</span> butt? </div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-21096208689406432752006-09-23T09:36:00.000-07:002006-09-23T09:42:37.069-07:00Bar Diving<div align="center"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/1600/Bar%20Diving%201.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/320/Bar%20Diving%201.jpg" border="0" /></a> My mom thinks that, just by putting them on the bar, she can keep me from playing with with my toys. Yeah, right, like that is going to stop me. She really should know better by now. I've gotten stuff off of almost every surface in this house. The only way she can keep anything from me is to close it up in something. </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">Man, I wish I had thumbs.</div><divalign="center"><br /><div align="center">On another note, I saw a poodle the other day. Man, what was that dog thinking when it got that haircut. It must have been a member of some weird religious cult or something.</div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-1157414039016100622006-09-04T16:50:00.000-07:002006-10-18T20:05:48.033-07:00New Shirt<div align="center"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/1600/Shirt.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2958/2242/320/Shirt.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Mom went shopping for me the other day. I would shop for myself but they won't let me in the stores. Well, Petsmart let me in but they didn't have anything that I wanted. Mom picked me up this really cute shirt.</div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-1155827768153084372006-08-17T08:09:00.000-07:002006-08-17T08:51:31.446-07:00I've Been Taged<div align="center"><a href="http://thomaspetersonformayor.blogspot.com/">Thomas Peterson</a></li> has tagged me. Tagging means that I tell you guys five weird things about myself. Then I Tag five other people and they do the same thing. So here I go.<br /><br /></div><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/1600/DSCF0942%201.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/320/DSCF0942%201.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>1. My worst enemy in the world is mom's big, blue exercise ball. I hate that thing and I will kill it one day.<br /></p><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/1600/Pedacure%201.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/320/Pedacure%201.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>2. I don't get my nails clipped, I have my manicurist (AKA, Mom) file them down for me.<br /></p><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/1600/Raincoat%203%201.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/320/Raincoat%203%201.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>3. I won't go out in the rain unless I'm wearing a super-cute rain coat. Actually, any raincoat will do, I just don't want to get wet. If Mom sends me out in the rain without my coat on I just stand on the patio and look at her like she is crazy until she figures out that she forgot to put my coat on me.<br /></p><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/1600/Blanket%201.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/320/Blanket%201.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>4. Every once in a while I get the urge to walk around my house with my blanket over my back. I have had my blanket since mom got me and I love it. I'll walk around with it on my back for about ten minutes and then I'll get tired and take it off and not do it again for a few weeks.<br /></p><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/1600/DSCF11701.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/320/DSCF11701.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>5. Last but not least. Tomatoes. Just the word sets me all a quiver. I love tomatoes. I love love love tomatoes. They are my favorite treat in the entire world. I love them more than liver treats. Sometimes, when I go outside, I'll get one off of mom's plants and eat it. I can still remember the first time I tasted a tomato. Mom was sitting on the couch eating one and she let me have a lick. She saw how much I liked it so she look them up to see if they were bad for me. Well they're not so now, whenever mom is cutting up a tomato, I get a bite for myself.</p><p align="center"><br />Now for the other doggies that I'm going to tag.</p><div align="center"><a href="http://www.goochthedog.blogspot.com/">Gooch</a></li><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://fritotoes.blogspot.com/">Celie</a></li><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://zeus.simplyjeanne.com/">Zeus</a></li><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://adventuresofbismarck.blogspot.com/">Bismarck</a></li><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://www.bunbunfooey.com/blog">Martha</a></li> </div></div></div></div></div>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-1155771088572827042006-08-16T16:20:00.000-07:002006-08-16T16:31:28.586-07:00Cool New Toy<div align="center">Wow, it's been a long time since I posted. I'll have to get on to my secretary- AKA, Mom.<br /></div><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/1600/Cracker%201-1.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/320/Cracker%201-1.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>Anyway, even though Mom does fall down on the job every once in a while she does still do good things for me. Like today she got me great new toy. It was so much fun, I tore that thing to shreds.<br /><br /></p><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/1600/Cracker%203-1.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/320/Cracker%203-1.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>Also, another tidbit of information, mom says that I have something called an "Allergy." She says that I’m allergic to grass and that every time I go outside and roll around in the grass I get red splotches on my belly. She also says that I get really itchy afterwards to and scratch myself till I bleed. That part's not fun. What is fun is that I get my allergy pill in a glob of peanut butter every day. Mom thinks that I don't know that she is hiding my pill in the peanut butter but I do. I'm OK with it though, I'll do anything for some more peanut butter.</p>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-1153364771517009072006-07-19T19:52:00.000-07:002006-07-19T20:15:14.340-07:00Notes To Self - pt.3<div align="center"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/1600/DSCF09771.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/320/DSCF09771.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />1. Mom’s hand is not a squeaky toy.<br /><br />2. Do not stop to drink water as a way to avoid going outside on a rainy day. Mom has figured this trick out.<br /><br />3. Do not try to crawl into Mom’s lap while she’s driving.<br /><br />4. The sofa is not a face towel; neither is Mom’s lap.<br /><br />5. People do not enjoy my aroma when I roll in dead things.<br /><br />6. Mom does not enjoy me waking her up by sticking my cold, wet nose up her bottom end.<br /><br />7. Do not chew crayons or pens, especially the red ones, or mom will think I am hemorrhaging.<br /><br />8. Mom does not appreciate it when I spend more than five minutes trying to find the perfect place to poop.<br /><br /></div><p align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">("Notes To Self - pt. 2" can be found </span><a href="http://daisymaethedog.blogspot.com/2006/04/notes-to-self-pt2.html"><span style="font-size:78%;">here</span></a><span style="font-size:78%;">)</span></p>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18369422.post-1153014445887281712006-07-15T18:36:00.000-07:002006-07-15T18:47:25.906-07:00Atlanta Boston Terrier Meetup<div align="center"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/1600/b%207-15%20Daisy%20Getting%20Lovins.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/320/b%207-15%20Daisy%20Getting%20Lovins.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />My mom took me to the dog park today. I love going to the dog park. I get to play with all the other dogs and they don't get tired as fast as my mom does. When we got there I was surprised to see a bunch of other dogs that looked just like me. Mom said it was a "Meetup". She said a "Meetup" is when a bunch of different people with the same type of dogs get together so there dogs can play with other dogs just like them. It was so much fun. I got to play with other Boston Terriers and I got loved on by other people to. That's me getting petted by the nice lady. It was a good day.<br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/1600/b%207-15%20Daisy%201.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1686/1796/320/b%207-15%20Daisy%201.jpg" border="0" /></a></div></div><p align="center">It was also kinda hot so I had to make sure to stay hydrated. Mom says that I'm a water mooch but I'm just trying to get a drink.</p>Daisy the Boston Terrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12687343555613075234noreply@blogger.com1