Today is Annie’s and my third year anniversary.

Three years ago, I drove for a little over three hours north to adopt this little character.

She is a beloved member of the Fort Doberdale Squirrel Posse, and dare I say, her I.Q. is higher than Raven’s shrieks.

When she first arrived on the FD campus, Annie loved Dove bars. She ate soap.

Another favorite activity of hers was pulling the toilet paper out from the roll and drawing it across the hall into the bedroom. She is very artistique.

That’s Ollie, above, looking at Annie’s artwork in silent disapproval. Ollie didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t control Annie and that she touched his toys.  Pippin is looking our way with that “someone’s in trouble and it’s not me” look on her snoot.

Here is the toilet paper and my hairbrush, which Annie enjoyed swiping, chewing on, then using to brush her hair.

Here she is using my hairbrush as her own while touching one of Ollie’s toys.

Oliver used to stand guard at the bedroom door because he thought he could stop her. He didn’t appreciate her artistic flare or that she was on his planet. Now he’s afraid of her when she gives him what for on those days he oversteps his boundaries.

Annie was notorious for getting into the no-dog zone, and having no remorse.

Now, of course, she knows better and when she gets caught, has a way of looking like she’s remorseful, when she’s still really not.

In the beginning, Annie would jump up on my bed and nip my toes to wake me up in the morning. She’s not done that for a long time, and I miss that. I am cautiously optimistic that one day I will run across an Australian Shepherd who needs a new home and is on the Beta side of the dog ruling hierarchy. I would like to find one of Annie’s own kind to remind her who she is, an incredible herding breed with phenomenal instincts and smarts.

These days, Annie hunts lizards, rescues toys for Luigi, guards dinner (taste testing when she can get away with it), and is the numero uno doer-inner of varmints that have the unfortunate luck to run across her path. She can press levers to get treats, ring bells, crawl, speak, and learns whatver is asked of her at a phenomenally fast pace. She is one of a kind.

Happy anniversary, my sweet Annie B.

Helen