Facebook is just fucking filled with people expressing various levels of bummerhood today. I don’t know what the hell is in the air, but it prompted my buddy Indigo to exclaim (on Facebook): “Dude, are they crop dusting with depressives around here, or what?”
Good fucking question, my friend.
There aren’t enough happy things happening for people right now. So, here. Look at this fucking dog. This dog right here. LOOK AT HIM. He’s fucking happy. Look at that fucking smile. Holy fucking shit, this dog is adorably thrilled to exist right now.
This fucking dog just had a fucking treat. It was stinky and gross and he fucking LOVED it. This dog’s name is fucking Guinness. How fucking awesome is that name for a fucking dog? Guinness is 90 fucking pounds of dog. That’s a huge fucking dog. And all he wants you to do is fucking cuddle and scratch his fucking butt. That awesome fucking place right above his tail. That’s all he wants to be this fucking happy.
Guinness has the best fucking ears ever. Fucking look at them. They are lopsided and fucking soft and you fucking wish you could pet them right now.
So if you are having a fucking awful shitshow of a day?
Look at this fucking dog.
If you follow me on Instagram or Twitter or pay even the slightest bit of attention to my (personal) Facebook posts, you know that at my new job, we have an office dog. He belongs to Toni, the founder and executive director of our organization. His name is Guinness, but I tend to just hash him as #officedog. For those of you who have the good sense and taste not to follow me on Twitter or Instagram, this is Guinness:
Guinness is not always content to hang out on the couch and watch me work. Sometimes he has to tell me just exactly how bored he is and just exactly how much attention I am not giving him. Now, he’s a Rottweiler-German Shepherd mix, so he’s not just a relatively large dog, he’s strong. His method of getting attention from me involves shoving his nose under my arm and flipping my hand over his head. Repeatedly.
Note: Guinness only speaks Dog, but he speaks it A LOT. He’s a talker.
Me: *working diligently*
Guin: Arrrph. *nose on arm*
Me: Hey, Mister. *pets dog, goes back to work*
Guin: Hrooo. *armflip*
Me: Okay, okay. *pets dog, goes back to work*
Guin: Ahroo. HRF. *armflip*
Me: Guinness. They aren’t paying me to scritch you. *pets dog, goes back to work*
Guin: Yes they are. *armflip*
Me: WTF, you don’t speak English.
Guin: ROOROOOROOO. *armflip*
Toni: GUINNESS. LIE DOWN.
Guin: HMPH. *curls up directly behind chair* *heavy sigh*
Me: *quiet sigh*
Of course, I’m completely in love with this dog. I’d happily put up with his armflips pretty much all day if I could. I think the love is mutual: