For whatever random reason, apparently there's at least one of you that thinks the poofball otherwise known as Jasmine doesn't get enough attention up in this joint. There are a few valid reasons why she gets less press than the pain in my hiney known as Meg:
1. She looks like a mop. I can photograph her up close, from far away, her right side, her left side, her backside. It won't matter. She'll still look like a mop.
2. She has never once farted in such a way as to cause me to nearly throw up from the stench. That kind of thing tends to get my attention.
3. She's the GOOD dog. You know how when people have a whole bunch of kids the good one gets forgotten all the time? Yeah, it's like that.
EXCEPT, she has decided to go all renegade on me and has turned into a ROYAL pain in the hiney. Apparently Meg told her about the time Mr. Husband put a turkey carcass in the trash. Ever since the story got out, Jasmine has been checking the garbage every.single.day to see what has been left in there. While no turkeys have recently died at the hands of my husband, there has been the occasional scrap of food. You know, because that's where you put the food that winds up on the floor when the Toddler is using it to practice free throws in the living room. Using the TV as the basket. And making more than a few shots. Why yes Bert, Ernie does have a little schmutz between his teeth.
Anyway, there has been enough food for Jasmine to decide to make trash rummaging her new hobby. I have spent the past month trying to retrain her that it isn't a good idea to go dumpster diving. Yesterday, I gave up. Peeps, the cheapest woman on Planet Earth spent $70 (you must read that using your Dr. Evil voice, btw) yesterday on a trash can that the stupid dog can't get into. I want to kill her. Or use her as a mop for the rest of her life.
Here she is channeling her inner mopness:
And proving that Mr. Canon rocks the action shot: