A comedian (Paula Poundstone? Elaine Boosler?) once told a joke about the mother who was having difficulty accepting that her child was growing up. When asked his age, she would say “He’s 862 months.”
Some puppy parents are like that, too.
Last wee
k, I was body slammed by an 80 pound German Shepherd named Marty Robbins.
Marty is almost 2 years old.
Marty’s owner calls him “the puppy“ as in, “the puppy is happy to see you!” My knees were not happy, but hey, nice to meet you, too.
“The puppy likes to put things in his mouth” – this, as Marty taste-tests my wrist with steak knives, I mean teeth.
“The puppy tells me when he wants something” as Marty glares at his owner, barking furiously in her face as she dares to have a conversation with me.
“This time of day, the puppy gets very excited.” Marty raced through the house, upending chairs, bunching up rugs, leaping onto sofas and unprepared guests.
As we know, puppies become adult dogs at various rates.
I mentioned a few breeds in Oh, Grow Up! and their respective age at maturity. But here’s the thing – Marty is probably not going to hold up a sign on a certain date that reads “I’m grown-up…. 10…9…8… 7…6…5…4…3…2…1… NOW!
So I had a little heart-to-heart with Marty’s owner.
Marty looks like a dog.
He has teeth like a dog.
He is acting very much like a dog, albeit a dog with no manners.
I think Marty can be recognized officially as a dog.
Ergo, let’s hold him to a dog standard.
Once his owner started to acknowledge Marty’s dogness (is that word?), she stopped making puppy excuses for his dog behavior.
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