Just before this photo was shot Ashlynn was pulling Jack's fur which is why he is looking off the frame silently pleading with my brother for help.
Pull tab journaling reads: Poor Jack. He used to have a good life. He laid on the couch, ate garbage and waited for someone to throw the ball. Then you came along. Now he lays on the floor while you crawl on him, patiently lets you pull his fur and darn it, you're too little to play fetch. But he loves you anyway. After all, you throw him Cheerios from your high chair. What's not to love?
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December 15, 2005