Monday, November 26, 2012



Thanksgiving is over, but I still hold an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Obviously, I'm thankful for my loving husband and my sweet little son, but I thought today I'd target the space in my heart where my bulldog resides.

Turbo came to us in December 2007. We were the third owners in the first year and a half of his life. He wasn't neutered, he was aggressive towards other alpha dogs, and he was afraid of everything. We are fairly sure he was beat in the past, indicated by some early cowering when objects like tennis rackets or brooms were lifted around him. Separation anxiety has always played a part in his demeanor, even after the 3+ trainers we've hired over the years. He doesn't do well off leash because he doesn't listen, he is stubborn and sometimes he will plant his 70 lbs. down on his hindquarters and refuse to walk. He has pushed our patience to the limit on many occasions.

And then I look down as he sits among the beautiful fall leaves while he looks up at me with a wide doggy grin on his face, his eyes reflecting nothing but love. I can see the gray forming around his left eye and his black wet nose seems to become more pale with age. I notice that he doesn't like to walk at the fast pace he once did, dragging me behind him on his way to his next adventure. Instead, he likes to plop down and stare up at me with a face reflects the happiness I feel when it is the two of us hanging out together. When I plop down beside him to give him a big hug, he rests his big head on my shoulder, his little lifelong quirks on hold for the moment.

Then he goes spastic and bucks me off because he spotted a fly and flies are his kryptonite. He is crazy, this one. But he is my middle-aged baby boy and I can't imagine life without him.

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