Boring.
He's excelled at moping.
And pouting.
Micah proves to be more gentle than I had expected.
Meanwhile, I'm doing a lot of this last week:
And this:
And that:
Micah accompanies me to work and on patrol.
With Dax, he tries to keep up with his older brother's shenanigans. Alone, he stays by my side and comes when I call.
The shock is almost too much for my old heart.
Proof that a 9 month old puppy is better behaved than the creature from Hell.
At the barn, he prefers to sit in my chair instead of scanning for an open door to make his escape.
After the hardships of raising a Dax, I'm grateful for a Micah.
All four dogs get to join me on a run to the vet school.
Dax, especially, enjoys the reprieve from house arrest.
Axel gets a satisfactory report from the opthalmologist and the caravan heads back home.
Blessed are the good dogs...
They make up for the other one.
I could try to bubble wrap everything in my yard, but he would find a way to injure himself regardless.
Dr. Carattini pulled his drain out on Sunday night.
Maybe now we'll have less blood stains all over the house, the sheets, my pyjamas...
I've been changing his T-shirt 4x daily. He's a mess, but I wouldn't trade him for the world.
Not that anyone else would have him.
