Bosco’s a quiet guy, and he likes to sit back and ponder things. I can tell he’s having some deep thoughts lately. Here’s what I think he’s been thinking:
Every song I’ve ever heard has a verse about me and my big feet. I’m famous.
When I have nothing to say, I say nothing. Think about that, humans.
How can it be that every time I’m ready to poop, somebody makes a big noise and wrecks my mood?
Why do people spend time fussing with food? If they’d just eat kibble, they could go to bed at 7:30 like me.
How come I don’t get to use the porcelain flushy thing? It’s raining. I’m tall enough……
Why isn’t there yogurt-covered kibble?
Why should I bring the ball back? You’re the one who threw it.
Why are Yorkies so bossy?
How can I possibly be expected to function on less than 21 hours of sleep each day?
How many pictures of me do you really need?
And most important of all: Life is about sitting in sun puddles.
PS: Why was there a pancake and a pop tart on the sidewalk?