Dat dawg don't dance!

I just found out that the dog I got in the d.i.v.o.r.c.e. is the one that *does not* dance.

Brogan is more beautiful than is reasonable in a full-grown dog, and as a friend noted on Sunday, charming parts of his personality are more pronounced than it was when the pup lived in the shadow of Harriet, a dominating female Westie.

But what I didn't know until just now is that Brogan doesn't dance, at least not without Harriet egging him on! I used to dance with both of the dogs. I'd crank up some music when I felt the urge to boogie, and the two of them would circle and jump and dance on their hind legs around me while I cut my own rug.

I put on the remix of Elvis' "A Little Less Conversation" and started to dance this afternoon. Brogan got up from his napping spot, and sauntered over. I thought he would start dancing with me. But he just stood there and watched.

And by "just stood there," I mean he stood on all fours and STARED at me. It was not one of those pleasant "might you feed me?" stares, either. It was a 100 percent "crazy bitch" stare.

Well, I could just be projecting, huh?

Even so, I tried to get him to dance with me, and he *still* just stood there and stared. Like some shy junior high kid on the sidelines at the school dance.

But damn, he's cute.