Fran’s Boston Terrier boy is plotting his next crime!

Our dogs seem to have a problem with the concept of personal space.

I was sitting on the couch this morning, enjoying my coffee, watching the morning news. Booker and Torque were playing – which means chasing each other around the house, grabbing each other by the face, shaking that face until squealing is heard, rolling around on the floor, chasing each other around the house, grabbing each other by the leg, shaking that leg until squealing is heard, rolling around on the floor, rinse, repeat.

We still have a little set of steps up to the couch for the dogs. Torque always uses the steps and at intervals between bouts of chase/grab/shake/roll he climbs up and says “Hi, Mom!” and gives me a lick, then gets back to the important business of chaos and mayhem.

Booker saw Torque up by me and decided to join us. He was running full tilt at the time and took off about six feet away from me. And landed on my stomach.

I’m grateful I wasn’t holding my coffee cup at the time. And yes, the phrase I uttered really was “ooooooph.”