Sonnyboy, The Bouncer?

So, because I trust Coble’s body, which says cold weather is on its way, I decided to walk the dog instead of spending the afternoon writing. So, there we were, walking, when who should drive up but my old neighbor! Blah blah blah, we’re sitting in the middle of the road, talking. It’s not that interesting except that Sonnyboy was not interested in greeting my old neighbor. No. Instead, he sat right up against me, right between us. He wasn’t mean or angry or aggressive in any manner. It was as if someone had put a disinterested ottoman between us.

But it impressed the shit out of me. And made me feel like he was just letting me know that he had my back.

Also, I will reiterate that, as much as he dislikes the head harness and has to let me know by rolling down the hill once we get off the road in an unusually obnoxious manner, it makes him a million times easier to walk which makes me a million times more likely to take him for spontaneous walks.

2 thoughts on “Sonnyboy, The Bouncer?

  1. Not 24 hours after we got my dog, she and I were on the front lawn, relaxing after an “introduction to the neighborhood” walk. Our neighbor across the street, who I’d known since I was a baby, started walking over, saying, “Jeanne, did you just get a dog?” My dog was suddenly NOT all about belly-rubs-and-good-times, but rather walked as close to him as her leash would allow, planted all four feet, and did a very credible imitation of Gandalf: “You SHALL NOT PASS!” She wasn’t smiling, she wasn’t wagging her tail; everything about her said “You don’t want a piece of this.” She was six months old, she barely knew me, but I was part of her pack and deserving of protection. When I called her back and said, “Sweetie, this is Mr. Holmes. He’s very nice”, BOOM! she reverted to a happy wiggle machine, she nearly licked the skin off his hands, and they were fast friends for the next twelve years.

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