While I’m waiting for Lomax, I’m puppysitting Harvey, who is also one year old…but weighs about 90 pounds (that’s about a 35-pound difference). He’s got short legs and a broad chest, and a huuuuge head. It’s a good thing he’s so laid back.
What a sweet, silly, lovable oaf he is! Amy likens him to a horse, due to his tendency to prance and snort and toss his head when he’s in a playful mood. The downstairs neighbors must hate me.
The stories his puppy raiser told me are priceless. When their family takes Harvey for a walk, the cat goes too (don’t ask me how they managed THAT). But the cat knows that when Harvey’s wearing his GDA “Puppy in Training” jacket, he’s at work and can’t retaliate…so the cat will swat at Harvey’s hiney and attack his tail, and all Harvey can do is give him a dirty look.
Until they get home, that is, when Harvey can pick up the cat by the scruff of its neck and carry it around like a puppy.
If I weren’t getting my own dog this weekend, I’d just not answer the door when the MacKenzies come to pick this one up. I mean, look at his sweet floppy face! Tim and I decided that if Harvey were a blues musician, his name would be “MooshyFace Jackson.”