If I had a list of criteria for evaluating potential animal additions to my family, it would go something like this:
- Level of adorableness
- General attitude of happiness
- Brains and talent
- Could I picture he/she curled up on my bed? (yes, Crumble does fit this description)
- Can I buy matching tack/saddle pads/leashes/collars/whatever for him/her?
So anyway. Avery fits the bill pretty darn well. Sometimes, it’s almost overwhelming – I mean, when he sits up on his haunches, front paws in the air, and tilts his head sideways a little in response to “sit pretty,” you have to have a heart of stone to resist him. Heck, you have to have a heart of stone to resist him when he’s just sitting there, doing nothing.
He makes doing nothing look cute
He also makes being bad look cute.
For instance, a few years ago, when Avery was fairly new to me, I packed two slices of pizza for lunch when I went to work. Avery has always come to work with me every day, and used to spend some time hanging out in the car and some time helping me in the barn, depending on how busy things were, how the weather was, etc. I kept snacks in my car, since I didn’t currently have anywhere else to keep them for lunch, and they were usually on the floor on the passenger side. Avery rides in the back, and at the time, he had never touched any of my food.
This time, I think the smell of pepperoni was too much to resist. When I went to my car to check on him, my pizza had mysteriously disappeared, and in the front seat was a little Corgi, his ears flat against his head, his body pressed as low into the seat as he could go so I wouldn’t see him.
Spoiler Alert: I did see him.
And he was very, very, guilty.
Needless to say, I wasn’t entirely thrilled about having to buy lunch, but I genuinely thought the entire situation was kinda funny. The best part is, the story wasn’t over.
A few days later, the weather got a little colder, and I had to pull out the coat I’d left in the back seat. Buried underneath my coat was one of the missing slices of pizza.