Having spent considerable time with this dog, and staring lovingly into his eyes (okay but he’s a puppy so really I only get a glimpse of his color-changing irises between chaotic sprints across the room), I have come to the conclusion that his name is not merely Cale, but C.A.L.E.
C.A.L.E., an acronym for “Crooked And Lopsided Ears,” is as adorably clumsy and awkward as he could get. Slippery tiled floors seem to pose the biggest problem for one with so many legs to coordinate, or rather, attempt to coordinate. Admittedly, even my 11 month old Golden Retriever has traction issues on the tile, but she seems to be in better, if not more graceful, control.
He doesn’t seem to realize that he is not a super-hero whose special power is the ability to move through solid objects. He is always shocked and dismayed when, in mid-chase, he tries to run through the dining room chairs, and is blocked, delayed by having to go either over or under the rungs. (It has never occurred to him that he is one third the size of his foster sister, and wouldn’t be able to catch her even if he could run through solid objects.)
His favorite word is “dinner,” but “treat” is a close second. One could take one look at his enormous belly and jiggly fat rolls and know this to be true. As predicted, shoes are his favorite chew toy, and we all need remedial training to pick up after ourselves with a puppy in the house.
And, as predicted, my love for him supercedes the abundant amount of poop, both inside and outside, that I am forced to scoop. His brief-but –lovely snuggles redeem the surprise of needle-sharp teeth sinking into my foot from below the table, and even my children are quick to forgive the theft of stuffies.
As babies do, he is growing too fast, and soon when I call him he will run to me with agility and speed and grace. For now, though, his clumsy run just makes me giggle! He’s gonna be a great dog.