Max was my daughter’s dog. He was born the same year she was, and came to live with us when they were both 5 years old. He lived to be 15, which apparently is a really long life for a Sheltie. And up until the last week or so, he still thought he was a puppy.
While he was still with us, it used to crack my daughter up with I would do crazy Photoshop things to his pictures. (Personally, I think the Photoshopped wackiness with the cats was even more hysterical, but that’s just me.) I like this particular manipulation because it’s calm. And Max wasn’t generally calm. The juxtaposition pleases me.
I’m not a dog person like Bev. Dogs have too much energy. They wear me out. I love other people’s dogs, though. I don’t even mind them coming by for a visit. But I’m going to save my energy for other things and just live with cats. (Unless my husband brings a dog home. Then I get to have a snake!! <evil cackle>)
Still, I do rather miss old Max. He was a really good dog.