DOGTUR

Don't anybody panic when you see the title of this post.  I am fine.  But sometimes on Saturdays I have to go to the dogtur to get a little poof of something up my nose so they don't kick me out of puppy camp.  I think it's called Bordatella.  Sounds like an Italian cocktail, but let me tell you my friends, it is NOT.  Do. Not. Like. It. 

Dad likes to tell me it could be worse and they could be checking out "my other end" but I don't care what he says.  I walk in all happy to see new adoring fans and all of a sudden there is "That Moment" when I realized why I am there and I suddenly attempt to become the world's best escape artist. Which never works, puppers.  It never works.