Dogs, dogs, dogs!
When I saw the post cats, cats, cats, I simply had to create this one. I've had two dogs. My first was a miniature pinscher named Bucky. He'd been thrown out of a car (!) and ended up on a corner where I got off the bus. He was one year old, and eventually became my psychiatric service dog. The difference between that and a therapy dog was that Bucky had actual tasks to carry out. Such as pawing at my leg to bring me out of a dissociative state.
The second picture is an expression we used to call The Face. When he saw something he wanted. Food, toy, you name it.
Bucky died abruptly of congestive heart failure at nine. That was over five years ago, and I'm still heartbroken.
I got a puppy, another miniature pinscher, named Fletcher. He is an adorable bundle of energy, and neurotic as the day is long! EVERYTHING scares him! He's a rescue who spent his first four months in a cage by himself at a puppy mill. Five years later, Fletcher is a sweet, loving dog. But a real mess. He didn't even know how to be a dog. He still doesn't greet like a normal dog; he's happy to see me, but darts out of reach if I try to pet him. Other than that, he loves to cuddle. And he has a loud, shrill bark, as these dogs do.