I am the dog

I've loved reading your comments in the recent posts, especially the ones about George. Whenever I show pictures of my favorite dog in the world, I get so many upbeat comments from readers.

Sara S wrote a funny one the other day, telling me that her children are singing a song about George, one that goes to the tune of Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl":

"I kissed George and I liked it,

he tastes like cherry Chapstick"

I don't taste like cherry Chapstick.

Do I?

I thought I tasted like frisbee.

And stick.

My husband hasn't shared his Chapstick with George since the weather has gotten mild. Several weeks back, I noticed him applying his Chapstick to the sides of George's lips one evening. It was true that they looked red and sore and well, chapped. My husband said it was because of all the frisbee catching they do during the day, in the cold and the wind. And George catches it and carries it around with his mouth, so it had gotten sore.

Well, the Chapstick worked because his lips are fine. And thanks to Sara S's girls, every time I hear that song, I'll think of my husband and our dog!

On another note, it's an Old Wives Tale that says when a bird poops on your head, it means you'll have good luck. I've always believed it's lucky. This guy doesn't, though.

It's also bad luck to kill a praying mantis or a daddy long-legs.

And you'll also have bad luck if you kill a cricket inside. They should be taken outside and set free.

These are just a few of the rules I live by.

And now I will say until tomorrow, my friends . . .