When we rescued him from the Humane Society, we had no idea the joy he would bring. We have had such a fun year getting to know him. He's got spunk, our puppy, and he seems to love life.
And, his backyard...and opossums...and chasing shadows (or, flashlight beams)...and waking Bobby up in the morning when he races inside to jump on the bed.
The living room is his playground, and he runs circles around the sectional, begging to be chased while he holds his rope toy or tennis ball. He'll take a running leap and dive into "his" couch in the other room. (It was a compromise. "Stay off the new furniture and you can lay on the old couch." It's a nice understanding we have, and it seems to be working.)
He's learned what it means when he hears "you wanna go on a walk?" or "you wanna go for a ride?", and he loves sticking his head out the cracked window on a drive. (Although, really, a crack is all he gets since he tried to escape months ago. We can't risk that again.)
Royal knows the sound of Bobby's truck, and begins to look out the window in anticipation of his coming home from work every evening. It's precious to watch him go to the door, waiting anxiously with his tail wagging vigorously until his Master walks in the door. He knows that "Dad's home!" means happy times. (I can relate.)
...in a couple of days? weeks? who really knows?, Royal is going to become a big brother. We think he's ready, and I'm so looking forward to seeing how he reacts to a baby in the house. He'll always be our furry, four-legged firstborn, and I'm so thankful for the all of the "parenting" lessons he's taught us in this pre-human baby year we've spent together.
He's a good boy. He's part of the family. He's home.