Everybody Loves Yukon

This here is Yukon. He’s not as smart as he looks. The “Sit” command takes about five minutes to travel from his ear to his brain to his large, square, wooly rear. You may believe that it is inborn stubbornness, but trust me on this one: he’s a furry Mack truck with all of the thinking power of a bag of rusty nails. You might wonder what such a fine, physical Arctic specimen is doing in Arizona. The answer is: Panting—a lot.
He is the subject of today’s blog entry because I’m stressed. And all I have to do for a laugh is look at a picture of Yukon. You might think I’m being a little hard on him. He is a dog, after all. No one is expecting him to do quadratic equations. Don’t mistake my insensitivity for derision. He’s a big fuzzy puppy-puppy, with paws the size of dinner plates, and if I didn’t love him I wouldn’t be laughing at him. So he’s afraid of the Swiffer, and jumps and strains that the end of his heavy-duty leash towards small children (he wants to be petted, it only looks like he wants dinner). And open garage doors and open car doors are always a personal invitation to him. Because, he deeply believes that everybody loves Yukon. With that mug, who wouldn’t?