puppy love

So A and I are dog sitting. 


Although "dog sitting" might be the incorrect term. "Horse sitting," maybe, or "animal that look remotely like a dog but is the size of a baby hippo sitting;" both sound much more appropriate. This Great Dane is giant. 


He's 130 pounds of black and white spotted pure love: the kind that follows you from kitchen to dining room to bathroom and back, and stand forlornly at the bottom of the stairs where the baby gate prevents him from following until you come back. The kind that runs frantically around the perimeter of the pool until you swim to the edge, and then licks your face to make sure you're doing okay. 


Of course, he's less than a year old, so he's also the kind of dog who can't be left alone for more than ten minutes without getting in trouble. The kind who requires constant attention, pretends he doesn't know what "down" and "no" mean. The kind that cries when left in his crate by himself for too long. The kind that is constantly tripping over his own big feet, always licking faces, always eager to please, the kind that I love. 


I can't get enough of him and his sad puppy eyes. 


It's a little frustrating at times, but A and I like a challenge. And the way I look at it, it's something of a trial run, for a puppy of our own someday.