BRINX

When last we met, this boy had just joined the family.  

This is Brinx.
And he quickly became attached to my hip.

We go for long walks, to doggie school and he follows me everywhere. 

Of course, he's no longer a 35 pound bundle of puppy goodness. 

Now he's an 85 pound bundle of personality like no other dog I have ever seen.

For example - on St. Patrick's Day, he got in the cupboard, grabbed ONLY the green food coloring, and decorated himself.

And the kitchen floor.

Yes, that's a true story.  

It looked like a leprechaun slaughter in my kitchen. 

He has destroyed numerous outdoor pots - and I mean BIG, HEAVY pots  full of plants - by knocking them over and playing in the dirt.

He loves sticks and frequently brings giant logs or 6 foot sticks into the house. 

Whey don't we stop him, you ask? 

Because he's figured out how to open the back door from the outside and brings in whatever he pleases.

Like sticks - this is actually a small one.

Or the kids deck chairs.  He was REALLY proud of this one. 

We quickly realized that we have to keep the door locked when he's outside.  

Of course, then this happens.

If I'm doing dishes at the kitchen sink and he's outside, this is my view.
He was explaining how displeased he was that he was OUT and I was IN. 

Although, if he's inside and I'm doing dishes, THIS is my view. 

Apparently he's "helping".

He's also very protective.

No vacuum cleaner, floor scrubber, blender or mixer will ever attack me, so long as  Brinx is in the house.
 

And that goes for outside threats too.

For example, he protected us from the big bad lattice work on the bottom of the deck.

By pulling it all off and bringing it to me.

In pieces.

Again, very proud of himself.

Baxter tolerated him well enough when he first got here.

But soon, he was taking up all the bed space.  

Well, until he chewed up all the dog beds.

But as the year has gone by, he's calmed down quite a bit....

He has been sitting like this since we brought him home.  

I think it's dignified.

Brian calls him a sissy dog. 

And you can usually find him sitting near me. 

That's his spot.  Those are my feet.

No, my socks don't match.

Yes, I'm OK with it. 

This was my view Christmas Eve - everyone was asleep but me and my boy. 

Usually, being next to me isn't enough.

We must also be touching. 

No matter where we are or what I'm doing. 

My feet again.  

We've had a little heartache and he's done a bit of mourning with the loss of Baxter (more on that later), but he's bouncing back now.

And yes, I am most definitely a bit obsessed with my dog - but with two pre-teen/teenage daughters in the house who have raging hormones, typical teenage angst and absolutely no use for their mother whatsoever, it's been nice to have someone excited to see me walk through the door, who gives me unconditional love and doesn't talk back.

Besides my husband, of course.  

There it is ladies and gentlemen - the cure for those rough teenage years.

Get yourself a good dog.

Ha!

And seriously - that face?

I melt.