At least he’s given up barking for attention. That drove me nuts for a while.
When he wants attention now, he’s big enough to just take it. Here I sit, minding my own damned business, probably writing some drivel or other, and suddenly my arm is ripped away from the keyboard.
He wriggles his nose up under my arm, pushing upwards. As soon as he sees daylight, he pushes through the hole like an NFL power running back through a Pop Warner defense until he’s got all 80 pounds of his golden haired body across my lap, keyboard drawer pushed unceremoniously out of the way, keyboard and mouse wherever they land, tail of destruction wagging frantically, smashing whatever is in the way.
“Scratch my back, or I’ll head-butt you and give you a wet willy,” he says with eyes looking up and back to me, smiling cockily.
I’m no idiot, and I’m well trained. Plus, getting two gallons of dog slobber out of my ear takes like forever.
From whence came the art:
That cameraphone snapshot is of Shakespeare, and was taken by Little John.