Tuesday, May 17, 2011

 I collect stuffed dogs.  Yes, I confess. It's silly, lame, and childish and a lot of fun.  And actually, I do it for my own pleasure, so who does it hurt? Plus, now that I'm - gulp - 50, I can do whatever I want!  Right?

I've collected my dogs over the years at various places, some soveniers from trips, others random purchases at grocery stores or on Ebay.



Each one brings me pleasure.  Many of them have memories.  Some of them represent dogs I've loved and had as pets.

I love every single one of them.  Even the whimsical ones.



Or the ones that don't look completely real.  Like this bulldog, dressed up. 

The stuffed dogs are the reason I've decided not to move my writing office downstairs to what is now the formal living room.  I think once I'm writing full time, I'll switch out with the exercise room (formerly my daughter's bedroom).