Barry doesn't know that he can get on the couch

Barry doesn’t know that he can’t get on the couch.

This is Barry.  72 knee-high LB’s of wrecking ball fun.  He’s that guy who’s everybody’s best friend; he breaks up fights at the dog park (does it all the time).  If he was a person, he’d be that one guy who’d witness a total stranger get beat up at a kegger, help him up, and offer him a ride home with a pit stop at Taco Bell.  

Unless.  

Unless you try to take his ball. Or you’re that min-pin that lives at the end of the block (hates that guy).  Then he’s an unstoppable force of nature.  Nothing but slobber and power.  He also doesn’t think that he can get up on the couch.  Not as in he’s not allowed to, he is allowed to with permission, he actually doesn’t think he can.  Never mind that he’s actually done it repeatedly, effortlessly, when we’re in the middle of playing ball and the ball lands on the couch; then he’s Trinity in the Matrix.  

Still when he’s actually thinking about it, he can’t.  Because he doesn’t think he can.  He’ll prop his front feet up and stare at you with those giant black saucer eyes (His other talent is making you feel guilty. Oh, and snoring.) and you have to help him up or it’s the end of the world.  

I have this whole job where what I do, other than wear stretchy pants, all day is to convince people that they can do what they don’t think they can.  You can do more than you think, I promise it’s in there.  Get up on that couch!  Wait, maybe that came out wrong….   ​

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