Name That Photo....

I need a caption for this photo.


That's our dog Gus, or Mr. Gus, or the Gusman, or Gus Gustofferson. His official name is Augustus McRae, named after possibly my favorite character from all time, from Lonesome Dove.

He almost never gets up on Hubby's recliner when Hubby isn't home. He almost never gets on the arm of either recliner. That's the remote control in front of him, if you can't tell.

Gus is so smart. [I know it's like children ... people everywhere claim their dogs are the smartest.]

When I gather a load of laundry [oh crap....forgot to put the clothes in the dryer....be right back], Gus goes to the basement door because he knows that's where I'm going. And he thinks something exciting is going to happen down there that will involve opening the garage door. One day I'll have to take a video of what he does when we open the garage door.

He knows when I'm going to ride the Harley to school. On those days I usually have on blue jeans, and I don't dry my hair. [I keep a hair dryer and curling iron at school just for those days.] Gus goes to the basement door those days too.

Of course he knows what "walk" and "go to the park" mean, and he starts barking and dancing in circles, and somehow Libby [the outside dog] knows the difference in Gus's bark, and SHE starts barking. If we don't mention going to the park but we start putting on our sneakers, he stands there with one of his front paws raised and looks at us earnestly, head tilted to one side, like he's thinking, "Go ahead....say it....please say it."

He knows where Granny lives. Hubby's mother lives at the end of our road, and if I say "let's go see Granny," he prances off down the road and straight to Granny's front door. He now gives the dog that lives next door to Granny's house a wide berth, ever since he found out that just because a dog is tied up doesn't mean he can't kick a little Pomeranian's ass.

He knows the difference between "treat" and "cheese," and while he will occasionally turn his little nose up at a treat, he will dance around in circles for cheese. I have to be careful about asking Hubby if he wants cheese on his sandwich, or Gus goes nuts. Lord help us when he figures out what c-h-e-e-s-e spells.

It took a while for him to learn that doorbells on television don't mean someone is at OUR front door. We used to have to race to mute the television when certain commercials came on.

He knows when it's bedtime, and he knows when I get out of the recliner whether I'm just going for another cup of coffee or I'm going upstairs to take a shower.

He knows what "Daddy's home" means, and he knows if we say, "Who is it?" that someone is coming to visit.

So why can't he figure out where the squirrels go?