/ by Whitney Hayward

If anyone reading this follows me on instagram, you know I have a dog. Like, I get it, she's a dog whatever please stop posting photos of her. Well TOO BAD folks, because in celebration of that little idiot's adopt-a-b-day she's infiltrated my blog for a quick second. 


I was not ready for a dog when I adopted Sam. I'm disorganized, messy, and poor. But I was totally capable regardless of these gaping character flaws. Totally.


Here's the thing though-Sam is not a normal dog. I don't know if she was separated from the litter too early and never developed basic socialization skills, or if she's actually part wolf and goat rather than dog. Both are possible.  


She has an inexhaustible source of energy dwelling deep within her belly. After a 10 mile run this summer, she sprinted and rolled around for almost an hour in the field beside my apartment while I lay prostrate on the ground.  


This dog has a very selective system for categorizing humans into "like" and "do not like." A lot of people fall into the "do not like" category. For no reason whatsoever, she decided to HATE my pal Julia Sumpter when she came to dog-sit her. Bared teeth and all. 


(This was taken after she peed on my dad. And she actually likes him) 


Sam's favorite thing is getting eye infections. This is where she contracted pink eye after swimming in the Arkansas river (honestly, probably my fault for wanting to skirt AC bills by taking her swimming in a pollute-able water source). I ate hotdogs for a week to pay for her vet trip.


"lol I don't care about bills" --Sam


Or your mountains


Or your sleep schedule


She's a rough gal. A rad running partner, and one of my best friends.


So happy birthday, you little weirdo. 


Stay weird.