This dog is obsessed, I tell you, OBSESSED with balls. All day. All night. Throw the ball. Throw the ball. Throw the ball. Drool. Throw the ball. Throw the ball. More drool.

He is such a boy. The pleading eyes. The drooling mouth. The nonstop begging to play with his balls. Kinda like me at Tassy's house. But different. She never really had to worry about severe puncture wounds.

Two of the five little monkeys that are destined to inherit all the crap in my garage that's destined to kill me one day.

This particular little monkey would almost certainly like most of those dangerous or dirty toys as his current interests include climbing to the top of hearths, coffee tables, stairwells and rocking chairs, launching brightly colored plastic things from second story banisters, and smearing all manner of food stuffs across his face. Clearly someone after my heart.

Surrender! You are powerless to resist his cuteness.

Don't be fooled. Behind those gentle eyes beats the heart of a ruthless killer.

I spent my required one day a year on the ranch. I'm pretty sure I'm two inches shorter from spine compression injuries sustained while on the back of this beast of burden. Only I'm not sure just who bears the burden in this relationship. At the end of the ride, I get a trough full of Advil, he gets a bag full of apples.

I'm not sure exactly what my father is trying to say with THIS picture, but Jesus, that's harsh. I inherited it from you, ya hypocrite.