Last summer, we thought it would be fun to get a dog (yes, if you want to get technical, we already had a dog. She just lives with my parents. On their land out in the middle of the woods where she is free to torment deer and not small children). Having already saved one psycho dog from the animal shelter, we decided to go a different route. After a great deal of research, we decided that a labradoodle was the way to go.
A mix of the fun-loving, family friendly Labrador retriever with the intelligence and non-shedding properties of a poodle? Yes, please.
Jason drove to central Arkansas to pick up the newest member of our family. He brought home the absolute cutest, sweetest, sleepiest puppy you've ever seen.
We were in love.
Since this dog was Jason's only shot at a son, I let him pick the name. He chose Hootie. As in The Blowfish. I silently said a prayer of thanks that God had given us girls. And that Jason had let me pick their names.
Hootie's initial sleepiness turned out to be due to a parasite in his belly. After a few doses of medicine, he proved himself to be a typical puppy. Chewing, nipping, peeing on the rug, tormenting the girls (and their mama). Everything a puppy is supposed to do. Including grow.
At his last visit to the vet, he weighed in at 78 pounds. His breeder told us he would max out at 55 pounds. That's a 23 pound difference, for you math majors out there. That's a whole 'nother dog.
He turns one at the end of the month. Surely he's gotten as big as he's going to get, right? Right????