I cannot believe I almost let this anniversary slip by without commenting on it.
A year ago this week, a little mutt came into our lives. His name is Toby and readers of this blog have gotten acquainted with him.
He’s now about 17 months old. Toby — a Chihuahua mix — has, shall we say, become a major part of our family.
His habits are now well-established and my wife and I have had toĀ adapt our own routinesĀ — at times — to his.
There once was a time when we could sit quietly and comfortably on our couch in the TV room. We could watch our favorite TV shows without disturbance. Not any longer.
Toby has developed a relentless and limitless desire to play “fetch!” with his mother and me. He brings us a toy. He puts it on the couch. He backs up, wags his tail vigorously and then we have to grab the toy quickly before he grabs it. We toss it across the room. Toby fetches it and brings it back.
This goes on … forever!
But we love him. A lot.
He and our kitty, Mittens, haven’t yet become the best of friends. She tolerates him, but that’s the extent of it. His feelings toward her? Well, I guess he sees her as a potential playmate — except that she will have none of it.
It’s been a fun year. Our puppy is quite smart. He’s well-behaved. He knows a few tricks and obeys our commands without hesitation.
He travels well with us in our fifth wheel.
We’re looking forward to many more anniversaries with him.
And to think he is precisely the type of puppy we pledged we’d never get. Silly us.