The Red Dog

This is The Red Dog. I used to be scared of him because he acts tough. Now I know he’s just a wimp but I still let him think he’s tough. It seems to make him like me more. He is called “Sheff”, “Sheffield”, “Sheffie”, “Sheffie-dog”, “The Red Streak” or “Stop Jumping on Me”. Officially, he is MACh NATCh ATCh Sheffield Bleacher Bum MAD. Whew. That’s a lot of letters. I sure hope I get to have letters some day. Many weekends mom takes The Red Dog to agility trials. When he’s a really good boy he gets to have Dairy Queen on the way home (“DQ for a QQ”, whatever that means). I wish I could have all that Dairy Queen. I’m sure I could be a good blue dog if there was DQ involved.

The Red Dog came from aussie rescue when he was a little puppy. I feel sorry for him because he doesn’t have a fancy pedigree like the rest of us. He’s the reason that mom does agility since he has loved it from his first class. I’ve heard rumors that he used to have impulse-control problems, too, but he has learned to be a good boy. I just know there’s hope for me if even a silly red dog can figure it out. The Red Dog also likes to go swimming and to chase tennis balls and Frisbees. He’s very athletic. He actually retrieves the toys so he gets to play longer than the rest of us. Suck up.

Mom and dad think that The Red Dog and I are competing for the title “Neediest Dog”. I think he’s way needier than I am. He won’t even go lure coursing because it means running away from mom. He’s such a momma’s boy.