Today marks fifty days until Moray says goodbye to Tennessee.
Today marks fifty-eight days till I say goodbye to my best little buddy.
Today is the day that those first tears have slipped out from under my eyelids.
When you pick these bouncy, rolley-polley puppies up at not-quite-eight weeks old, eighteen months seems like a lifetime away. Before you know it, they finally can hold their bladders until you get them outside, they learn not to howl in their kennels, they "sit," "stand, " "heel," "jump," "roll," "under," and so much more with only the whisper of a word. They prance next to you with that coveted "J" in their leash, not even tugging at that grown man whistling at them across the isle, rather, looking up at you as if to say "take that. I'm so good, aren't I mom?" All the while they are wiggling their way into the deepest parts of your heart.
And all too soon, you find yourself with an email glaring at you in your inbox entitled "November Matriculation is Approaching."
I'm not ready for this.
But then you look down at the almost-seventeen month old puppy snoozing on your feet and you realize that he is ready.
All his commands have been learned (more or less).
All your worries about his behavior in public have disappeared, and he can handle just about anything with confidence and ease.
But most importantly, he knows how to love. He knows how to laugh. He knows a simple game of fetch should be the highlight of your day. He knows he can make friends wherever he is. He knows mornings are greeted with wiggles and happy dances, and nights are ended with a kiss.
You just need to catch up.