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Eleven years ago today, our Yorkie showed up in the carport barking at the raccoons. He was homeless, in bad need of a haircut, and his fur was matted with twigs, debris and dirt. He wanted the food the raccoons were eating but they weren’t being too cooperative.

I fed him and gave him fresh water and he was as friendly as can be. Then I decided to bring him in and give him a bath and a safe place to sleep and hang out. We spent months checking with local vets, shelters, and classifieds to see if anyone was missing him. When no one claimed him after so long, we adopted him and loved him. He had to be housebroken, but he is always a quick learner.

It’s weird to think we’ve had him for 11 years now, it doesn’t seem that long. He’s been an incredible part of the family; full of love, energy, joy and he’s always making us laugh.

However, when I explained to him the concept of dog years and that he was actually 64-years old and that he can get senior citizens discounts at Arby’s, he didn’t believe me and thought I was joking.


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Yeah, my hearing isn’t so great, but it sounded like the Vols fans were chanting this in the stands: “TWO TEETH! FOUR TEETH! THAT’S ALL WE GOT! STAND UP AND HOLLAR IF YA THINK YOUR SISTERS HOT! GO VAHHHHLLLLS!”


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Pac-Man isn’t what he used to be.


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GEAUX Geautors!