My dog Five is gregarious, obsessed with people, excessively-affectionate, and ridiculous. Jack July once complained that Five was like a frat-boy who hoped to force his tongue on every person at the bar.
Today, at the rainy St. Patrick’s Day parade one block from my house, Five additionally confirmed this description by (1) partying with an enthusiasm I haven’t had in a decade and (2) surreptitiously gunning for every alcoholic beverage left on the ground.
Above, he prepares to take down a Jello-shot. Don’t worry: I worked at a veterinary hospital; I know his limits, and don’t let him drive.
