Dogs 192-197

The front half of this dude says "Ready to pounce." I don't know what the back half is saying. "I could probably use a couch" or something.


I had to be very careful when taking the picture you see before you, because this is basically the Eleanor Rigby of dogs right here and I didn't want the song playing in my head to alert him to my presence in any way.


The most profoundly black dog I think I've ever seen, composed of superdense neutron matter that actually sucks in and absorbs light, creating a dog-shaped inky hole in the fabric of spacetime itself. He knows he's the one responsible for all those cosmologists' calculations about the mass of the universe being off, but he's cool with letting them work it out on their own.


This guy here kind of makes me wonder why nobody makes or hangs those old-timey silhouettes inside gilded frames on their walls anymore. In some cases it'd be much easier to do than you'd think.


Everybody, and I mean everybody, in the world should have someone like this to come home to, with a face that spells happiness and a tail like a baseball bat that swings and knocks your shitty day right out the window and into traffic. Don't you want to just hug him so hard he falls over?


I'm standing in front of this store in the Hayes Valley admiring the display when this chief comes up to the window on the other side, puts his paws up just like that, and lets me know who owns the place. I couldn't keep a straight face for the next three hours.