Kiss Me. I’m Irish. Then I’ll bop you on the head.

If you can’t tell by looking I’m an Irish Setter. St. Patrick’s day is my day. As the saying goes Kiss me I’m Irish. And of course I’ll return the favor by bopping you on the head. I learned that from my two legged companions. They put their hand on my head when they tell me I’m a good girl, course I’m always good. So I do the same thing. I put my paw on their head when I want to tell them they’re being good. Brian calls it bopping. I call it petting.

Kate, my sister the English Spring Spaniel, doesn’t get her own day. They don’t have a day for English people and pets. I’m lucky I’m Irish. Dee made Irish stew for us for dinner. That’s beef and potatoes and green stuff and carrots. I love carrots. And tomatoes. There are tomato plants growing in pots on the deck as soon as they smell sweet I eat them up. Then Dee fusses at me.

It’s good to be Irish.

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