I rarely share pictures of the kids anymore, or at least of the non-Indiana kids (Indiana is far too elusive to capture on film 99% of the time.) So I figure I owe a few pet-related posts.
This is the exciting life of Rooster and Little Bit, as illustrated in a recent photo:
Cute, but unproductive, bordering on laziness. (Which is how I know they're my children.)
And then there's Brodie.
How do I put this delicately?
Brodie is precious, but...well, frankly, functionally retarded. I'm not being mean, and it's not his fault; we're pretty sure that even though he's sweet and lovable and button-cute and (generally) such a good boy, he's ... well, I'd say there's a good chance he's his own cousin, let's put it that way. He was named Brodie after Jason Lee's character in Mallrats. I wanted to name him after Jason Lee's most recent incarnation, Earl - we heavily favoured Kevin Smith and Jason Lee on the names list - but Travis pointed out that Earl was a good guy but kinda dumb and we'd be tempting the fates. Yeah, well....apparently the fates were listening in anyway.
The fact that he learned commands right away actually works against him - this breed is notoriously smart and stubborn. The fact that "Brodie, sit!" leads immediately to Brodie sitting? Not actually a good sign. Little Bit spins around twice, jumps in the air, and then sits. Just to prove that you're not, in fact, the boss of her. There's something very Homer-esque about Brodie, loving but not the brightest bulb; like if you were to cut to a visual of what's going on in his brain, it'd be a little man in overalls whistling "Found a Peanut". The dog eats hair and fuzz. He scours the floor and finds fuzz, and he eats it. (I'm not complaining, really, it does cut down on the amount of times a week I have to sweep up.) So we're frustrated but not surprised when he'll suddenly go for three weeks without remembering that he's supposed to potty when outside. This leads to a lot of time spent in the backyard with him, showing him how to squat so he'll remember why he's out there in the first place. I've actually witnessed him losing his train of thought mid-stream. He'll start his business, and it's like he immediately forgets why he was standing that way, and he wanders off to sniff a butterfly or something. (No, you can't use the puppy excuse. He's nearly two. There's nothing to explain it anymore.)
A lot of this may sound like complaints, but really, it's completely endearing. I love our dog. His eyes never seem to quite focus on anything, kind of like he's *thinking* about looking at you; he has the Princess Di eyes down pat. He's eaten an entire tube of superglue, which to date we're not sure how he obtained. To jump down from somewhere, he actually just kind of flings himself straight upward into the air and hopes for the best. To get a closer look at something, he just basically runs headfirst into it. I'm forever terrified he's going to hurt or poison himself, but he never seems to register any sort of injury, which has led me to believe that he's completely numb from the ears down, with cast-iron intestines. He will eat absolutely ANYTHING as long as you call it a treat (on those occasions when we've had to administer a nasty pill for something or other, this comes in extremely handy.)
And if you need a cuddle - hell, even if you don't - boy, he is right there for you! I've never known a more affectionate dog in my life; he actually hugs. Full on gives hugs - if you're sitting on the floor, he'll walk up, stand on his hind legs, stretch up your body, put his paws around your neck, and hug. Cutest. Thing. Ever.
That's our boy - cute, lovable, and dumb as a stump. You're my guy, Brodie. You're my guy.