(Obviously there are more important things to talk about, like the shit that happened in the Mission last night, but there are Serious Forums where people can condemn vandalism and all that jazz. You don't come for that. Let's talk about something better, like DOGS.)
As you may or may not be aware, The Wife and I live in a 2-unit building with my sister. I mean, The Sister has one apartment (downstairs) where she lives with her roommate, and The Wife and I live upstairs. We call it The Compound. Here's our flag:
"Nos Ebrii" is Latin for "We Are Drunk."
Anyway, I have a dog (a roughly 18-pound Chi-terrier thing) and my sister has a dog (much larger labradoodle, lovable and friendly but kind of a doofus) and her boyfriend has a dog (big thing, not sure exactly of ancestry, see pixx below) and when they're all around it's like a goddam kennel or something. But of course they're all awesome and we love them all blah blah blah.
See, here's my dog with The Sister's Boyfriend's dog:
TSBD, the one at the top of the pic, is named Chewie and is about as laid-back as you can get. If he were a person he'd be the rough equivalent of Brad Pitt in "True Romance." (Jump to around 1:09 for the good part.)
Chewie's decided that he likes our place upstairs. A lot of times on weekend mornings when we get up, this is what we see in the kitchen window.
So we let him in and he pretty much just pads into the bedroom and lies down and goes to sleep. We have carpet and my sister has hardwood and she theorizes that he likes it upstairs because he doesn't slide around as much. Possible, I guess.
This past Friday, we cooked out in the backyard and watched some Giants and stuff. They went back downstairs. A while later, I went into the kitchen and guess who's back?
Creepy, huh? I think it's the flash that makes it kind of horror-movie looking. Anyway, I let him in and he walked down the hall into the living room and passed out on the couch.
That's where I found him Saturday morning. I guess he's our semi-permanent houseguest.