Dog Years

It was very cold last night. A heavy frost. The kind that you have to scrape hard from the car windows. Maybe that's the reason Kooper seemed especially slow on our morning walk. He took his time sniffing and exploring along the way. Although we didn't stay out too long, since my hands were getting numb. No gloves on. I was thinking while the two-year old-plus Kooper was moving along languidly that he's definitely out of his puppy stage. He's not awkward anymore. He doesn't jump up and down with crazy joy like puppies do. Like the way he used to a while back.

Bess, our Springer Spaniel from a couple dog-lives ago, was a puppy for at least three years. It wasn't until then that she calmed down and stopped chewing everything in sight. Records. Furniture. Shoes. The cardboard tubes that the paper towels and toilet paper and wrapping paper come on (she loved those). And Christmas wrappings. Christmas was her favorite time. She couldn't wait to get at the wrapping paper that was discarded as we unwrapped gifts.

Lady was five years old when I picked her up to bring home so she was technically not a puppy at all then or even close to puppy years. But I don't think she ever graduated out of her rebellious adolescence. She was always spry and had that mischievous look in her eyes, as if to say, "I'm about to do something that you won't like and I don't really care. Ha ha!"

It will be interesting to see what kind of dog the new First Family adopts to bring into the White House. And what kind of personality it has. And what famous antiques it chews up.