Bosch is looking over his shoulder at me like I’m either insane or sadistic.
Icy rain is falling, adding to the sleet on my deck and my American Staffordshire terrier mix does not want to go out in it.
by Brett Campbell
I don’t blame him, but he has to visit his favorite bush... and it’s out there.
Finally, he trots out and down the steps, does what he has to and quickly comes back inside to the warmth.
I tell him what a good boy he is and he takes the large dog biscuit from my hand. He’s a canine teenager and eats like one — the treat is fully consumed before the door is closed. The only evidence it existed is a pool of drool on my chair.
Thanks, buddy.
He is happy in his new home and you can tell. Most of his anxious behavior hasn’t presented here, but it could have something to do with getting pats and belly rubs whenever he wants.
It’s always good to know you’re loved, appreciated and protected.
Just the other day I saved him from the evil machinations of the dish washer. He positioned himself between my leg and the wall and kept a wary eye toward the kitchen.
He’s going to be a great guard dog.
I know my wife loves me because I see it demonstrated. I know God loves me because I see it demonstrated, too. Others will know I love them not because of what a say, but because of my actions.
But an “I love you” or even a “Good boy” is appreciated, too.
It’s part of the reason I smile and pat Bosch on the head.
It reminds me of all the times my dad has smiled at me and patted my head.
Hey ...
