“He’s cute. He looks like Cooper,” I replied. (Isn’t he cute?) “Why is he in our kitchen?”
“His name is Bobby.”
“Is he staying?” Because that would really be a LOT of testosterone in my house.
Something was afoot. Earlier this year I posted a photo of an adorably fluffy black lab puppy looking for a home. “There better not be a puppy in the living room when I get home…” Jon’s commented response read loud and clear.
Today, our current two wacky four-legged residents were running wild in the backyard while an appraiser snapped photos of our house. Through the window looking out onto our front yard, Jon saw a woman carrying an unhappy dog (“I am not a small child lady! You’re missing the point of my walk!”) and dragging a cranky pup behind her.
“Is this your dog?” the frazzled lady asked as soon as Jon poked his head out the door to offer assistance. “He just darted out of that yard.” (“That yard” being our neighbor’s, who has no fence. We are intimately familiar with trying to coral rogue escape artists from this yard.)
Shortly thereafter, Jon had custody of the dog.
He was a yellow lab, but almost completely white. He had the pointed American retriever build, but without Cooper’s stocky chest.
He was a good dog. He knew his name; he was a little confused that Jon knew his name. (“Bobby?” <doggie head tilt>) He knew Sit. He knew Shake.
Stay was a little shaky.
Thankfully he had a Home Again tag. Yay for microchips! (This is not an ad or sponsored post, but I’m a big fan of microchipping. Cooper got marched down the vet right quick after our first week’s adventure.)
By the time I finished lunch, I received word that Bobby’s playdate had come to an end. I am pleased to share that he did not eat any household items. Perhaps this is why he was initially viewed as a viable replacement for Scout (who devoured my sunflower seeds and a muppet placemat this week).
‘Til next time Bobby, Stay! And don’t give Cooper any more ideas.