I’m legal!

 Woof woof!!! I'm finally "legal". 

As you can see, I’ve got this big medal thing that is hanging from my beautiful collar. No, its not a gold medal from being the most picky eater from the Commonwealth Games, nor is it a medal of honour for having chased the most cats in the neighbourhood.

It’s a dog license.

My human finally decided (after 1.7yrs of nagging – I’m nearly 3 by the way…) to get me my license from the city council. It didn’t cost a lot and it wasn’t such a hassle to get it but my human has been rather busy with stuff that he forgot to make me legal.

So, what does this mean?

Well, it means that I’m legally kept by my human (geez, who said anything about they keeping me, it should be the other way around) and they know that they can ensure that I won’t get shot or rounded up because I’m not a stray.

Anyway, the next step –> identification tags!! Bloody hell, I feel like a mini Mr. T with all this jewellery around my neck. “I pity the fool who touch my paw! I pity the fool!!”


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