We Are the Music-Makers...

...And We Are the Dreamers of Dreams
-Arthur O'Shaughnessy

My dad is moving to Sacramento during the weekdays for work, and after that will most likely be moving to his ranch in New Mexico to fulfill his dream of becoming a cowboy in Santa Fe--(a particular breed of cowboy that spends his winters SCUBA-diving in the tropics, but hey, who knows what John Wayne did in his free time?) As a result, Tim and I have excitedly volunteered to take Bailey, my dad's dog. Bailey is a 5-year old Bichon Frise, a breed of dog that, more often than not, looks like this:

Thank GOD my dad is not a fan of the blown-out look. He wants Bailey to be a rough-and-tumble ranch dog, and so it isn't surprising that Bailey instead resembles an inebriated, shameless pirate:


He's good-natured, sweet, friendly, and adorable. The only issue we have so far is that he cries/whines/barks when both of us are gone, to the point that if it continues, I know our neighbors will have a problem with it. We try to discipline him to illustrate that he can't cry like that, but it's so hard to say "bad dog!" in a stern voice when you're talking to an animal that could essentially be Snuggles-the-detergent-bear's twin.


**As a side-note, that blue and black "piece" draped ever-so-stylishly over the futon is Tim's way of giving the room a more "beachy" feel. It's a towel.