If you’ve seen my instagram feed, you’re no stranger to this guy. It’s basically tiny dog central over there. Ach—I’ve already subjected the internet to so much tiny dog—and it’s like, who wants to hear about how much you love your tiny furball? It’s something that can only ever be interesting to you, and maaaaybe other furball-owners. So let’s not get all goopy and annoying over here. Let’s stick to the facts.
A year ago, I wanted to adopt a dog, so I adopted this dog. He was about six or seven and now he’s seven or eight. Spends approximately all day sleeping. He’s extremely nap-with-able, cuddleable. He has a high-pitched, somewhat grating bark indicative of his small stature. Thankfully he uses this bark mostly outside. At the park he can be kind of a dick—a miniature douchebag, which is unwise. Miniature things had better not pick fights with larger things, but when your brain is the size of a peanut, what can you do? He’s recently learned to sing.
Yes, I love him and recently covered him in pink paint. (It’s fine, it’s fine, it wasn’t really paint, it was this stuff.)
Here we have it: a year with George Michael and his furry pal Daphne, compressed into one photo essay.