Around my house I’m third in line for a butt scratch and the last to be fed.

You should be so lucky to be one of my wife’s dogs. Bethany and I started rescuing Scottish Terriers about ten years ago and up until last July when we lost Barkley, we had three of them. Two wheaton colored Scotties and a black one. Now we just have Newby and Mac. We refer to Newby as the AD&D dog since he forgets he just came in the house and has to go right back out. Mac has serious medical problems including allergies (we give him an injection every two weeks to combat that), he gets an antihistamine for scratching, he has joint problems so he gets a special additive to his food each day and he has epileptic seizures ( he gets a custom made pill for that twice a day) . I’ve told Bethany to never tell me how much we’ve spent on Mac’s medical bills but I do know I could buy a good used car with that money. He is a lucky dog to be in my wife’s care.
Our dogs are treated like children. They have bone shaped stockings hanging by the fireplace. Santa Paws, as my wife refers to the jolly old elf, leaves chew bones and squeak toys in those stockings. They had a big time Christmas morning.
But don’t think the dogs don’t earn their keep around stately Larksmith Manor. They keep marauding squirrels away and we’ve yet to be invaded by a single one of the shadows they see and bark at in the yard and alley. They alert us to the arrival of the postman who dares to drop stuff through the mail slot in our door and then walk by the windows to the next house. How dare that person walk through our front yard.
They also alert us to when it’s time to get out of bed and pay attention to them, take them for a walk and when dinner time rolls around.
Yes, one should be lucky enough to be my wife’s dogs. They have their humans well-trained.

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