Dogs 229-232

"Bastard sun, scourge of my eyes! From the depths of my thrice-colored soul, I curse thee!"


I like how this guy manages to somehow look stately and dignified despite being about the size of a football and a soccer ball put together. Don't you want to rub his fuzzy little chest?


Dogs can't read.

(I know his owner must've been the one to put him there, but the juxtaposition was just too good to pass up)


With just his eyes and nothing else, this dude attempted to negotiate with me the purchase of an eighteen-foot-tall powered-armor robot battle suit, for purposes unspecified. He seemed unfazed that such a thing did not actually exist. Sometimes it's good that dachschunds don't get any bigger than they do.