As per Milo, R.B. isn't allowed to receive praise or attention. He mostly accepts this state of affairs, but I try to sneak him a pat every now and then. Pomeranians may run the asylum around here, but it turns out that Mr. Handsome isn't entirely composed of chopped liver. I was walking them the other day when some family pulled their car over and were all eagerly like "What kind of dog is that? He's SO CUTE!" I was like uhhhhh, because the cute one is clearly a pom. Then they clarified that it was the big guy they were referring to, who was just the most amazing, best looking dog ever. Well, little did they know that he's just some muttley mutt from the Humane Society, and that sometimes after you pet him your hand smells like beef bullion.