Farley here,
Culture shock. That’s what I have. I spend months in the Bahamas off leash, running around, digging holes in the sand, and swimming off the beach.
We get to Florida, and I have to wear a leash. I think that’s a bit humiliating. I don’t run away – okay sometimes I might get distracted and chase a squirrel, but I stay in sight.
This is me looking tough. I’m trying to tell Kristina with eye contact alone that I don’t need a leash.
Does she listen?
Nope.
On goes the leash. I just don’t understand this leash law deal. I’m a good dog.
Woof Woof.
