Meet Dewey III (or as Big Daddy calls him Reggie).
He decided, last week, to follow Peach while she and her friend were going on their walk.
He is large.
Very very large.
I mean LARGE.
Like I thought Francis was large, but oh no…she looks tiny compared to him.
He had clearly been walking a while because the pads of his paws were raw and bleeding.
He was skinny.
Filled with ticks and scrapes.
He is potty trained.
He can sit.
He can lay down.
He can take his paw and smack you upside the head when he wants attention.
He is VERY needy (I think I mentioned that).
He is a sweet sweet dog.
He has a slight drooling problem.
He has several mast cell tumors all over his body.
He eats a lot.
He drinks a lot.
He farts unspeakably a lot…loud, long, juicy, audible, smelly farts.
He hates cats.
He wakes me up at 7 am by standing at the side of my bed and he stares at me until I open my eyes. The only reason I know he is there is because his hot breath feels much like a sewer filled sauna.
When I say “good grief, Dewey, do you need to go pee…he pirouettes, leaps over the bed (yes, I said over my queen bed without touching it) and he heads to the door.
He is large.
His head is massive.
He loves attention and wherever there is a warm body, there he is.
He thinks of only his stomach.
*Sigh* I love this dog.
I’ll try to get a “perspective” picture tomorrow of him and the other 3 dogs.