His Supreme Dorkiness

The girls said it wasn't fair to post a picture of Wimzie on InsomniMom and then not post a picture of Hershey, even though I seriously do not know what will happen to me if Wimzie ever finds out that I invaded her privacy in such a brazen manner.

So here is Hershey, looking much cuter than he actually is, perking up his ears as he asks, "Uhhhh, does that little silver box something in it for a boy to eat? Because it's been half an hour since I stole a piece of toast off Aisling's plate and it's not quite time for my morning nap, so that must mean a snack is in order."

My husband calls Hershey a "Beltie." His mother was a Sheltie, a beautiful girl named Candy, and his father was the beagle next door, a mésalliance to be sure. Especially where Hershey is concerned. He has a smallish, pointed Sheltie head, topped by those large ears, a chunky beagle body, a long, whippy beagley tail with a white tip on the end, and four lo-o-o-ong, dainty Sheltie legs. It's an interesting mixture, one that sometimes causes strangers to flinch and children to hide their faces in their mothers' legs.

Hershey barks like a beagle, especially when he's nervous, which is a lot. This dog has been known to tuck his tail and run for Mommy when a falling leaf touched him gently on the back. He yelps "Bork!!! Booooo-r-r-k!!!! Booooo-o-o-ork!!!!" and we're probably lucky the neighbors all find him a congenial mutt, or they probably would have called the police on us.

Every night, when it's time to go to bed, Hershey runs eagerly back to his crate, even though he's spent the past sixteen hours lolling on the couch, stretched out on his special towel with his special pillow beneath his head. He goes into his bed, rearranges his blankets, and places his pink pillow (he has many pillows designated for his use scattered around the house) where he likes it best, up near the door of the crate where he can see anyone who walks into the laundry room without lifing his head. He's content there until around nine o'clock the next morning, which is when he begins a steady and irritating campaign to be set free, uttering squeaky noises and rattling the door with an insistent paw as if to say, "Hey. HEY. HEYYYYYY!!!!! I'm IN HERE. Like, STILL. And I'd like to PEE and have some of your breakfast. And people, THERE ARE MAIL CARRIERS TO BARK AT AND NAPS TO TAKE AND I CAN'T DO THOSE THINGS FROM IN HERE!"

Somehow, he always gets his way. It must be those ears.