Yes, it’s your boy Blue here. Double the size of my littermates and made of nothing but love, intelligence and excellent hair. I was built to make a big impression — soft as a teddy bear, calm as a monk and rocking a hairstyle that’s been compared (accurately) to Don King on a really good day.
My life motto? Don’t worry, be happy. Because when you’ve got family, friends and bacon-topped pup cups, what’s there to stress about … unless there’s a suitcase on the floor. More on that later.
I started life as “Kaki,” but the moment Dad met me, it changed to Blue. He looked into my eyes and just knew — I was forever his Boy Blue. We’re buddies. Co-pilots. I own the shotgun seat, and I defend it with strategic stillness and increasing weight. I love Mom too — very much — but Dad and I have a routine, and routines keep me emotionally regulated and deeply satisfied. When Mom tries to reclaim shotgun, I mysteriously become impossible to move. Eventually, she surrenders. I stay.
If I were human, I’d be a Walmart greeter. Love is my full-time job. After our morning beach walk, Dad takes me to The Refuge for coffee, conversation and the holy grail of pup cups — topped with crispy bacon. While we’re there, tourists ask to take photos with me. Dad chuckles. I pose. It’s the hair. People remember the hair … and the handsome mug … and the cloudlike softness.
We’re out and about a lot. Dad plays guitar; I work the crowd like his agent, offering hugs, photo ops and general emotional support. Sometimes people ask, “Are you Blue’s dog?” My tail responds before Dad does.
What I don’t love is separation. I’m a wolf-pack kind of guy. When someone’s gone, I carry a blankie to my bed and quietly self-soothe. If both Mom and Dad leave? Devastation. Absolute heartbreak. Suitcases signal the end of civilization — Armageddon. Lucky for Mom, I’ve matured past her shoes, but her side of the bed may suffer.
So here I am — Blue. Famous, fluffy, loyal and deeply devoted. Bacon is sacred. Routines are law. But family is everything. I’m not just lucky because of where I live or how good my hair is. I’m lucky because I belong. And as long as my pack is together, I’ll keep riding shotgun, posing for photos and holding us all together — one soft, soulful day at a time.
