This little fluffball technically belongs to my mom. She got him for Christmas, but wasn’t over mourning her long-time companion Maltese who passed away in October. So he spends part of his days with me, tirelessly guarding my feet. On Sundays I give him his weekly spa treatments. Okay, it’s just a bath in my sink, but I talk it up to him until he feels like a fancy little king with his own personal bath servant.
His hobbies include shredding rolls of paper towels into snow-white drifts of confetti usually minutes after the floors have been swept, begging for treats which he then hides strategically all through the house in case of zombie apocalypse (he tries to hoard ice cubes too, he doesn’t understand why they’re never where he leaves them) and playing rope toy. He doesn’t play rope toy like a normal dog. He prefers to latch on to one end, letting his body go limp, and be swooshed across the floor like a fuzzy little mop. His very favorite thing is if I lift him into the air, one end of the rope clenched tightly in his teeth, and swing him back and forth. He closes his eyes and gets the most blissed out happy puppy expression I’ve ever seen. I’m pretty sure he’s destined to be a circus performer.