A Day in the Life of Pot Roast the Bull Terrier

Amherst Veterinary Hospital has mentioned their patient, Pot Roast, in a few blogs now. As the owner of such a clown, comedian, companion and occasional terror, I’m often asked what he is like at home.

I thought I’d highlight “A Day in the Life of Pot Roast,” so that Amherst blog readers can learn a little more about this ridiculous and amazing character.

7am: Wake up with Dad, who hides my breakfast all over the house so that I have to go hunt for it. Its hard work, but someone’s gotta do it. Dad leaves for work. I’m sad about this.

8am: Mom wakes up. She makes coffee and since she works from home, I get to sprawl on her lap while she types. She sometimes protests and says I’m too heavy, but I think 75 pounds is the perfect size for a lap dog, right?

8:15am-1pm: All this napping is such hard work. I stir to sit at Mom’s feet while she makes lunch. If I give my cutest face, she usually lets me lick the plate afterwards. She calls me the “Rinse Cycle,” but I don’t know what that means.

2pm: Mom and I walk 200 metres to check the mail. If it rains, I don’t go with her (who wants water in their ears?). If it’s too hot, I don’t go because I get heatstroke in ten minutes (too much muscle, Mom says). When she gets home, I’m holding my treat ball to give her the hint, but Mom says it isn’t dinner time yet.

3pm: Time for a little sunbathing. Mom has to put sunscreen on my nose and my, ahem, man parts, which is embarrassing but otherwise I burn real bad. I’ve had a peeling belly before, folks. It ain’t pretty. When I get bored, I dig a wee hole in the backyard. No one will mind.

4pm: Dad is home and we go for a family walk. We meet a few of my dog pals along the way and we have a good sniff and a play. Some people avoid me because they think I look scary but I just want to give them a lick, especially all those little humans who squeal and run around all the time! I don’t mean to head-butt everyone, but hey, you would too if you had a noggin this big.

5pm: Dinner. Can’t talk. Busy chewing.

6pm: Play hide and seek. Mom says to be brave but I don’t like looking for Dad in the dark. Sometimes we go for a swim at the ocean, but my heavy chest means I need a lifejacket. It’s shameful, but it’s better than drowning.

7pm-7am: This guy needs his beauty sleep.


Roastie, catching his beauty sleep.





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