*Cough, gasp, eyes water*

I've only owned one dog in my life.  Just one.  We were more cat folks growing up.  But when I left my dorm of 45 women to live in a house with one man, I got a little freaked out.  So my Hubs took me to the Animal Shelter and we picked out a puppy. 

Buford was super sweet.  He was so tiny, calm and sweet.  And full of worms. Which caused the calmness and the sweetness.  Once dewormed he was like a dog who ate meth dog bones every five minutes. 

He liked to play with a Tigger puppet I had and if we said "Buford, get your toy!!" he would rush over to Tigger and place it on his muzzle and run around in his high-on-dog-meth way.  I know, so cute.

But you know what isn't cute?  Dog farts.  Yep, dog gas is pretty horrible.  With that I give you:

My thanks to Insanity Kim, who feels I'm worth the stench.  *choked up*  It could be because she carries Pocket Febreze.  Or has no sense of smell.  Either way, I am humbled and honored and yada yada yada. 

I freely bestow this highly honored award and pay homage to these fine people:

Insanity Kim:  ditto, my friend, *whispers* ditto.

WendiWinn:  because of her, I own the much talked about Febreze.

Speaking from the Crib:  because she's full of the awesome.

Jenny on the Spot:  because she uses colloquials and makes me pump my fist in the air in victory.

The Creative Junkie:  because she talked about boob sweat and I felt a kinship.


So take this award, my fine friends, and let us clasp hands in friendship despite the horrible, gaseous, eye watering, stench of the digestively challenged canines.