Dogs 237-239

This guy kept pacing back and forth while the band played; I don't know what that was all about. It was almost like he wanted to get away from them. They weren't that bad, dude; I don't care if you're wearing velour pants or whatever that is your leg fur is doing.


Now that I think about it, why don't all dogs sit this way, all the time?


What kind of crazed, power-mad sorcerors own this little chief? I realize I'm making a big assumption here, but the dark arts are pretty much the only way I can think of to graft those legs onto that body without resorting to Disney imagineering or whatever.