The Pig Dog is growing up; all legs and mischief. He rarely holds still long enough for a photo op, especially not if he knows I’m looking. I remember how much I hesitated to bring him home. Would he be “worth” it? Could I handle another dog, another thing on my plate? He is and I can. The only thing I can’t is imagine life without him now.
He sleeps beneath my desk during the day, lays his head across my feet and dreams. I catch him sitting by the fence more now, watching, waiting. He takes everything in. He’s even become a good garden dog, learning to lay in the paths, sprawl out in the shade of the sweet corn while I work. The Pig Dog is growing up.