This is our neighbor. I have no idea how to actually spell her name but you should be able to read it from my cool dictionary-like pronunciation in the title. She is a Boxer pup, not quite a year. She is a doll and every time we are in the backyard she comes and sticks her big gangly self through this small hole that is made at the corner where four different yards, including hers and ours, meet up. If I got to pick the next dog for us I would pick a boxer pup. The only reason I won’t go there is because I’m not home that much and Jim just doesn’t quite have the time or energy to deal with a hyper puppy. Momo really is still a puppy. But he’s more like a puppy on valium. All calm and mellow and oddly not very interested in running or playing outside or chewing up everything he sees. Also, he doesn’t like to be too hot. If we can get him to play outside with us for 10 minutes before he runs to the bag door and begs to be let back inside, it’s a small miracle.

 

 

Someday, when there is less to do, maybe I’ll slow down and settle. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s not circumstantial, but in my DNA. Maybe I’ll be like a hyper, curious puppy forever and never grow into the old, tired dog that just wants to lay at your feet had have her belly rubbed. Only time will tell.