Dear Redford, Part 2

Dear Redford,

When I got you, you were so calm. Course, you were also dehydrated and full of worms. Now, there’s no such thing as too much exercise. The other day, we walked three miles up Dimmocks Mill Road and three back, and as soon as we got to the house, you bounced around like “So when are we gonna exercise?” and then did about forty sprinty laps around the yard. This morning, after almost an hour of hiking off-leash, you cavorted behind Wa’s house from 9:30 to 2:00. A little bitty snooze this afternoon and you were ready for me to throw the ball for you again.

All that exercise makes you a very hungry boy.  Two-thirds of a can of wet food, six cups of dry food, and whatever vegetable filler I can sneak in there, every day. Even after all that, you want more. You stand in the kitchen, stare at your metal food bowl, and then stomp on the edge of it, making it thwang against the tile. Thwang-ang-ang. I say, “Redford, you just ate!” Head-tilt. Stomp. Thwang-ang-ang. So I give you raw hides and milkbones (the big ones). I smear peanut butter inside your hollow bone for you to lick out. We play ‘Find a Peanut’, which involves me scattering handfuls of peanuts on the kitchen floor for you and Violet to hoover up.

And unlike Violet, who has to watch her girlish figure, there’s not an extra ounce of flesh on you. You’re probably sixty-five or seventy pounds now and pure muscle, and you’re certainly a good three inches taller than your sister. I remember that day I brought you home, you ran right between Violet’s back legs without even ducking!

And your head. Your head is a big block of cheese. In size, shape, and composition. You’ve proven yourself to be, shall we say, hard-of-learning, but you’re still the sweetest goddamn thing there ever was.  At the dog park, you kiss every dog passionately, even when they rrrrr at you. If two dogs get into a fight, you zoom in there and start madly licking muzzles, sure that your love can diffuse any tense situation.

You like to make out with people too, in particular Bobby’s head. I think you like the feel of his close-cropped hair on your tongue.

The most expensive lesson for me has been that you cannot be left alone. I’ve replaced shoes and doormats and grill covers and do you know how much a Japanese maple costs?!

But you know what? You don’t like to be alone. I get it. It’s who you are. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Love,

Amy