Dine With Your Dog

Benefiting the Phoenix Children’s Hospital Animal-Assisted Therapy Program, this fundraiser begins with a sniff ‘n’ greet, followed by gourmet human and canine dinners, a best-dressed dog contest, raffle and auction.

Calendar March 27

4 p.m. $100 for one leashed dog and one-behaved owner. Private Central Phoenix residence.

If Fido’s a foodie, you don’t want to miss our ‘fur-filled’ fundraiser for a chance to Dine With Your Dog for charity.

Mingle with fellow animal lovers, pose for portraits with your pet, and even enter your fashion-forward pooch in the Canine Couture fashion show at the Third Annual Dine with Your Dog.

The evening includes a gourmet human dinner with wine, a gourmet canine dinner, raffle, doggie activities and more. Benefiting the Animal-Assisted Therapy Program at Phoenix Children’s, proceeds from the evening will go ‘straight to the dogs.’

Tickets are $100 for one leashed dog and his or her well behaved owner. Reserve your seat today. Click here to purchase pre-paid raffle tickets.

DineWithYourDog
Tel: 602.944.9552
March 27

source: Phoenix Children’s Hospital

Things Dogs Should Remember

I will not play tug-of-war with Dad’s underwear when he’s on the toilet.
The garbage collector is NOT stealing our stuff.
I do not need to suddenly stand straight up when I’m lying under the coffee table.
I will not roll my toys behind the fridge.
I must shake the rainwater out of my fur BEFORE entering the house.
I will not eat the cats’ food, before or after they eat it.
I will stop trying to find the few remaining pieces of clean carpet in the house when I am about to throw up.
I will not throw up in the car.
I will not roll on dead seagulls, fish, crabs, etc.
I will not lick my human’s face after eating animal poop.
Kitty box crunchies are not food.
I will not eat any more socks and then redeposit them in the backyard after processing.
The diaper pail is not a cookie jar.
I will not chew my human’s toothbrush and not tell them.
I will not chew crayons or pens, especially not the red ones, or my people will think I am hemorrhaging.
When in the car, I will not insist on having the window rolled down when it’s raining outside.
We do not have a doorbell. I will not bark each time I hear one on TV.
I will not steal my Mom’s underwear and dance all over the back yard with it.
The sofa is not a face towel. Neither are Mom and Dad’s laps.
My head does not belong in the refrigerator.
I will not bite the officer’s hand when he reaches in for Mom’s driver’s license and car registration.