The Olympics should be held in Britain every time. Every dog owner would thank the IOC. Finnigan gets me out of bed as 5:54 a.m. every day, no matter the weather. He is a stealth dog; he is able to use every single square of the bed for a surprise attack. He starts at the foot of the bed, notices me stirring or turning over. He stands over me like some sort of malevolent spirit, hovering, watching. If I am awake, I can see his evil little white soul patch which is mostly grey but lights up pure white when he's being evil. Then he starts boxing me like a kangaroo, letting out a short, high-pitched moan. When that doesn't work, he slithers between us and begins to lick my face. He is not deterred if I push him down; he just goes to the other side of the bed and sits on Gordie who snarks him. A dog fight ensues. By this time, I cannot stand it any longer. I'm up. He's out the door briefly, then bounds back in for a ball of food. I feed Gordie, then give him ano...
More than a million served!