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“Dear Santa, I have been REEEEEEEEALLY good this year. Will you bring me a basketball, some toys, and…um…a girlfriend?”

No photos to illustrate this post, for reasons that will quickly become clear.

As an intact male dog, age 14 months, poor Lomax continues to race around this world with hormones coursing through his little body.

Why still “fully equipped,” you ask? Well, Lomax — along with most of the other pups from his excellent litter — is still being considered for GDA’s breeding program. Fortunately, according to the head of the GDA puppy department, they’re working right now to schedule his breeder evaluation dates. I’ll be sad to leave him at the school for the three weeks of testing, but relieved to finally have an answer with regard to his test…es.

Things get nuttier (?) as the weeks pass. The little yellow dog who once relieved perfectly on command is now the little yellow dog who leaves little yellow drops. He’ll still go when asked, but he does a “non-committal piddle,” preferring instead to keep a reserve in his tank for important messages he wants to leave for his friends around the neighborhood. A potty break can take forever; every blade of grass must first be sniffed, even in the spots he knows. I do my best to correct any ridiculous behavior (like marking, or gluing his nose to the ground in one spot), but I also don’t want to tell him to go then yank on his leash, sending him mixed messages.

His man-status doesn’t help when we’re working on dog distraction issues, either. How is one person’s upper body strength supposed to triumph over the instincts of a girl-crazy teenage canine? “Gosh, she’s purty…you didn’t need that arm, right?”

And here’s one for the memoirs: lately, Lomax has been very much “on display” as a fully locked and loaded love machine. He likes to roll onto his back when people are petting him, which I let him do when he’s out of jacket. But, man alive! All he needs is some bad dialogue and some “wakka-chikka-wakka-chikka” background music….

Lomax gives the new Narnia movie two dewclaws up.

“Couldn’t get enough of the wolves,” he says,”and the battle sequences were riveting! Full of animals! I hope the man sitting in front of us didn’t mind my snout on his shoulder.”

Lomax and I marched in a Christmas Parade last Sunday, along with some other folks in our puppy raiser group. The crowd loved us, of course! Lomax was more than eager to strut his stuff for the public in his fancied-up training jacket and the special light-up collar I bought him as an early Christmas gift. The marching bands didn’t phase him; neither did the horses. He was tempted to go play, however, with the adorable little girls from a local Brownie troop, who were dressed as gingerbread houses.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get a whole bunch of photos…just the few quick ones I could snap while we were milling about in the parking lot, waiting for everyone to arrive and “suit up.”

Christmastime in Los Angeles…

Looking our holiday best…

Sweet Darla looks like a wee angel…

But Lomax is always best dressed!

“These don’t have enough hair on them. Let me help.”

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Dog on his dark throne
In the Land of Labrador where the Shadows lie.

Some say the Ring brings madness….

I swapped Lomax for his brother Liam for a few days after Thanksgiving; it’s good to move the dogs around a bit to get them used to adapting to new environments and schedules. Besides, I wanted to get a more objective assessment of how Lomax is doing, and I trust Liam’s puppy raisers. They hold their dogs to a high standard and do consistently good work, so this was also an opportunity for me to compare the two boys and see what I can reasonably expect from Lomax in terms of obedience.

From all reports, my little yellow dog did very well and was quite adaptable! He walks a little fast sometimes, and could stand to be more attentive to his handler, but these are issues I knew about. We’ve been working on them daily and really concentrating on them in our weekly obedience class. Hopefully it’s just a matter of maturity. I have heard many puppy raisers say that sometimes the light will just go on one day: “Ohhhh! I get it now. You don’t WANT me to chase birds!”

It was fun to see how similar the two of them are, personality-wise. They can both be wiggly wonders, happy little dogs with big smiles and long tongues and wagging behinds. The night we switched back, we let them run around and play in my apartment. They were two furry peas in a pod, tugging and running and wrestling and slobbering on each other with what I perceived to be great brotherly affection.

I love sweet Liam, but I desperately missed young master Lomax, and have been showering him with hugs and kisses ever since his return.

Today Lomax turned 14 months old, so I took him to see a matinee at my favorite movie theater. It was a nice respite from the ridiculous heat we’re experiencing right now in Southern California (Accursed Santa Ana winds! I want to wear my turtlenecks!), which has brought on a response from Lomax’s Emergency Hair Shedding System. He’s like one of those cactus plants that shoot their needles at you if you get too close.

We got there early and took a seat, called my roommate to brag about what a good theater patron Lomax is, and fielded a few questions from the nice family sitting next to us. My favorite, from the little girl:

“Your dog is very cute! I’ve never seen a dog at the movies before. What if it’s scary? Will he be scared?”

I told her that Lomax is very brave.

This theater has plenty of space between rows, so he was nice and comfy. The stadium seating allowed him to peek between the chairs in front of us whenever he wanted to lift his head and see something. He slept through much of Harry Potter, but he was quite interested in one particular preview shown before the film. I saw what was coming and looked carefully for his response…still in a “down/stay” position, but ears up, brow wrinkly, eyes bright, and tail wagging subtly.

Sure enough, it was a preview for the almost-certain-to-be-beyond-lame Tim Allen remake of The Shaggy Dog, complete with requisite “Who Let the Dogs Out?” soundtrack. I told him we could rent that one, but I’m not paying ten bucks to see it.

He’s lived here for weeks now, nearly two months. All of a sudden, he starts doing this, which is another habit he has in common with brother Liam.

It’s like when twins are separated at birth and raised in different adoptive families, separated by miles and borders and cultures…and they both grow up to be tap-dancing ornithologists who speak Portugese and collect antique fishing tackle.

He doesn’t drag other blankets or towels around, just the one from his crate. At least it picks the hair up off the carpet as he goes. If only I could teach him to use the Swiffer on the bathroom floor.