This is Barnaby.
A year ago when we moved, Iz was having a really hard time with it. Moving’s hard at any age, but 7 is especially difficult, I think. I leveraged all of my techniques to help her deal with it, until finally, at my wit’s end, the following words fell out of my mouth: “What if we got a third dog?”
BEST PARENTING TECHNIQUE EVER, I KNOW.
A couple of months later, this ridiculous beast left Texas and appeared in our home. He left one leg behind in The Long Star State, but NBD, he doesn’t miss it. As I figured out when he swiped an entire cup of butter off my kitchen counter within a week of arrival.
He took some getting use to, after several years of dogs that do great impressions of rugs 99% of the time. He’s a tornado, all dog energy and love and slobber. So much slobber. He’s ruined more things in a year than our other two have ruined in four, and currently my backyard is decorated with rainbow poop after he tore through a brand new box of crayons. He is without a doubt a huge pain in the ass.
And if it’s not obvious, we just can’t get enough of him.