I often say, "He's a good little dog." It's dismissive, I think. He's a good dog. He'd be the first to tell you that size doesn't matter.
He is not, of course, perfect. He is the loudest loudstar who ever louded at the Loud Fest in Loudania. That part is a little difficult for me to handle gracefully. On the other hand it keeps my attention. We all know how important that is. It has pointed me in the right direction more than once and changed my life in ways I never imagined.
We spent this week in someone else's house hanging out with someone else's dog. I think Ed liked it. He did not, however, like it so much that he wasn't thrilled to get back home where he could rub himself up against all the parts of the couch, bark at his very own cats, and sleep without one eye open. That, too, gave me a lot to think about as I am prone to considering dog fostering after my cats have gone the way of all things.
Anyway, four years ago today I woke up to another melancholy dog-free day. Vague visions of Rottweilers danced in my head. By 5pm I had committed to receiving this little "puppy" and figuring out what to do with him. For four years every day I've gotten up and figured out what to do with him. With luck that won't change any time soon.