He likes to lay by the front door, keeping tabs on the goings-on of the neighborhood. A neighborhood which is typically very quiet but he still finds things to make noise over. Squirrels. Passing dogs taking their owners for a walk. Stray cats. Lots of stray cats. Visitors to the other homes in our cul de sac. Delivery trucks. Anything he feels the need from which to protect me.
I can’t believe he is going to be a year in just a couple months. Our tiny 7-week-old puppy that we brought home with his razor sharp teeth and little high pitched bark has turned into a sweet, goofy, friendly, fluffy ball of love that has become the center of our house. He loves to love and be loved.
But in the hours when the girls are at school and my husband is at work, he grows bored. He’s a very social dog and is happiest when the house is buzzing with voices and noises and movement. In these quiet hours of silence – the hours I regenerate – he lays by the front door, dozing on and off, waiting for something to happen. It’s his favorite spot to rest, more so than the underneath of the dining room table or the corner by the stairs. It’s where he watches and waits for the world to come to life again.