Little Man Tate

I think this photo says it all when it comes to my French Bulldog mix named Tate.  Here he is, relaxing in his adirondack chair with a morning cup of coffee.  If I didn't know better, I wouldn't even think of him as a dog!

Tate was brought into the family as a "shop" dog, someone to keep me company in my antique shop, as Lola was simply too big and would knock everything over.  Tate came to me all the way from Alabama and has adapted to the cold Vermont weather pretty well, with the help of a few handmade sweaters of course.  He lives to love, and loves to live.  He drives me crazy and melts my heart all at the same time.  He is constantly in trouble... jumping, stealing food, getting into the garbage, rolling in poop, tracking mud in the house, destroying pillows, you name it and he has done it.  In fact, as I am writing this I am pretty sure he is doing something terrible. Yet at the end of the day it all still amuses me, and I wouldn't have it any other way.