House guest.

This is the Fillmore. He is a little peanut of a boy who stayed with Clara and me the past eight days while his dad (my neighbor) was out of town on a business trip. Fillmore is a Boston Terrier, and his raisen de vie (does that mean "reason for living"? I'm hoping it does...) are tennis balls. Truly. The dog is on crack and by "crack" I mean tennis balls. Yes, he has an addiction, and no, he can not stop at any time and don't let him try to tell you otherwise. The minute he wakes up in the morning he grabs one of his myriad tennis balls, and from that minute on he has one either in his mouth or in a 1-foot radius of himself until the very....last....second before he falls asleep at night. It's completely insanity. Clara and he get along pretty well, but both are very jealous of each other so Clara was probably more than satisfied to see him go today. Especially considering he insists on sleeping under all the covers on the bed, which, added to my mom sharing my bed while she was here meant that there was no room for Clara on the bed, where she normally sleeps for at least half of the night. She did make a valiant effort to try to continue her routine, however. It failed miserably.

I did manage to get a few good shots of him/them over the week, so here they are, for your veiwing pleasure: