"oh, atlas, you're so cute when you smell things."

last tuesday night, i hopped into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin.

the sheets get a little messy during the day, what with atlas hopping on and off and on and off the bed, so i used my hands to smooth them out around me.

i felt something hard and round.

i squeezed the hard round thing between my fingers. it was cold (and hard and round) so i figured it was a rock. i wondered why there was a not particularly tiny rock in my bed, but i got out of bed so i could throw it away.

it was not a rock.

it was a hard round cold ball of dog poop.

that is the first thing people do not tell you about having a dog.

the second thing people do not tell you about having a dog is that after years of living with one, this won't even phase you.

you will look rather bemusedly at it (why exactly is there dog poop in my bed? how did it get under my covers?), chuckle at the dog and tell him he's a silly goose, and carry the poop into the bathroom and throw it in the garbage.

then, you will wash your hands three times and go back to bed.

in the morning, you'll wash your bedding, though in all honesty, you won't be sure whether you aren't only washing it because washing the bedding was already on your list of things to do on wednesday.

seriously.

if i were going to write a dog book, this is the dog book i'd want to write: "the things no one tells you about having a dog (& if they did, you wouldn't believe them anyway)".

clearly we haven't been introduced.

my name is atlas. i am a friend to all kitties.

come out from behind the glass and visit me!

i shall love you and sniff you and follow you around adoringly. and we shall be the bestest of friends forever. or at least until you disappear on me.

poor atlas. i do like making things play with him. his kitty cousins sent him some squirrel-shaped treats for christmas, and i cannot help but make every squirrel play with him before he gets to eat it.

i'd write more, but i just started reading your dog is your mirror (kevin behan) and it is so fascinating that now i have to finish it. i barely tore myself away from the book to write this post, and atlas has not gotten his evening walk. clearly 2012 is shaping up to be a year of good reading.

my friend heidi was here for a visit back in november and she took this photo of atlas and me. it’s four of my favorite things: my beloved foiry (his latest nickname – it was “my beloved furry” and then i adapted it), nature, the pacific northwest, and autumn. love.

i am so happy to have this photo. i have three photos of atlas and me that i love. one is from 2003. one is from 2007. and now i have this one from 2011. interestingly, they were all taken in autumn, they were all taken outdoors, and we both look pretty much the same in all of them.

goodness, do i love this dog. i tell him that i love him more than the sun, the moon, and all the stars, and i mean every word of it. even when he’s saucy. and i must say that since he turned 8 1/2, he seems extra-determined to get what he wants when he really wants something. it’s sort of like he got up one morning and thought, “hey! i’m getting old! we shall do what i want from here on out.” not that we weren’t mostly doing that already ..

there is a thorough sniffing, and then they're done and ready to move on to the next thing.

a wordless weimaraner wednesday.

these would say,

"why are you just standing there? why don't you move?"

"you're still standing there. why are you doing this? move already! sheesh. keeping an eye on you is a full-time job."

i also like to flip back and forth between these photos in my photo library.

ears. no ears. ears. no ears. ears. no ears.

this could go on for hours.

yes, there is a reason you cannot see his face. i was in the middle of a project involving a very long strand of twinkle lights. atlas was very unsure about it so i was trying to make him smile. it did not work.

i have decided that the definition for woebegone needs to include a picture of atlas wearing a t-shirt. doesn't he look miserable? i hated to do it, but he had a wound that needed to heal and would not stop licking it, and i finally got tired of shouting no at him.

if i ever wonder why i cannot get my dream bedding, i just need to look at this picture of muddy paw prints on the bed. (i feel like this photo does not even do the mud justice.) why is it that a) my brilliant rainy day ideas always involve a very wet and muddy dog and b) the same wet and muddy dog likes to dry himself off on my bed? i suspect that pre-atlas-me would think current-me has lost her sanity because current-me just looks at the paw prints and smiles because she is so happy that she has an atlas pup to track mud on the bed.