Michael Writes

I love my dog.

Cooper, or "Coop" as we’ve taken to calling him, will be eight weeks old tomorrow, making him two months old by human standards.  I decided yesterday that this must be the onset of the dog version of those terrible twos I’ve heard so much about with human children.

For the first time yesterday, Coop seemed as though he was on some sort of doggie crack, running laps around the back yard that he treated so timidly just days ago.  When a dinner guest came to visit last night he was still in rare form, deciding that every chew toy (of which my left arm apparently is one) was out to get him and must die.

Did I mention that I love my dog?

Oh, he’s also started barking when he wants attention which is cute for about three and a half seconds.  Now before you get the idea that Rio (my partner) and I are complete doggy pushovers I should tell you that Coop eats only IAMS puppy food (dry) and the occasional treat.  And paper.

And pine cones, gardenias and azaleas.  But I digress.

After the exhaustion set in from yesterday’s Crackfest ‘08 and we retired to bed, Coop slept like a champ.  Unfortunately, at some point during the night he apparently fell off the bed and ended up sleeping in a pile of clothes on the floor until Rio woke up and found him.  After that, Coop burrowed himself deep under the covers and beneath the protection of my body pillow, against my leg until we pulled ourselves from bed sometime around 7:30.

Yeah.  7:30 a.m.

On a Saturday.

I love my dog.

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