Not a cigar, it’s a dried salmon roll. It came in his monthly BarkBox.
I take a lot of crap about being overly-attached to this cutie pie. Some people think I’m pathological about it, but of course, I don’t buy it. I love my dog. Period.
The other day we were at “nose class” with Riley–he’s learning to find things by scent. I was talking with the trainers about some attachment issues I’d noticed, and one asked me, “are you the one he’s most closely bonded to?” The other trainer –who has worked with us and Riley for a couple years–spoke without hesitation before I could get my response out: “oh yeah, and vice versa.”
Then, looking at M, she quickly added, “I didn’t mean you’re more closely bonded to him than you are to M.”
I laughed. And didn’t say a word. Maybe I am and maybe I’m not.
Later, I opened an email from an advertiser and saw this:
Riley likes to sit on our patio chairs and even at almost eight years of age jumps up on them in one quick bound. But this chair would be just his size. So I sent the link to M. and asked if he thought Riley would like one.
I was expecting him to say “Are you kidding me? He already HAS chairs, our patio chairs!”
But this was his response:
Yes–I think he would like it–it’s only 13 inches high so he could use the chair well into middle age–also it’s indoor/outdoor so he can use it without having to do the big leap into the patio chairs.
Uh-huh. Looks like I’m not the only one.
(I ordered it.) Happy eighth birthday, Riley. Yes, today. And as it turned out, he’s been diagnosed with a wonky knee cap and should not jump up any more. (My husband is brilliant. And prescient.)