Greta and Marlow turn one today, not even officially puppies any longer, though I will
continue to call them that, as my parents call the five of us–in our fifties now–“the kids”.
Of course it’s not a year ago that I brought them home—that was in July—but still a reminder of how fast time is flying and of how quickly one adapts to change.
In their time with me they’ve tripled their weight. Learned to walk on leashes. Learned to fly through the dog door.
Especially cute is when they fly through the dog door side by side, like the tiniest possible pair of matched horses.
They’ve learned to travel in cars, and sleep in crates, and when and where they get fed. They’ve learned to munch ice cubes.
They have grown fur that is long and lush.
Marlowe jumps and shoves on my leg when it’s time to be fed. Greta looks girly, she even plays coy, turning her head just so and the little brown patches on her cheeks look like blush. Marlowe “talks” when he wants something, like another treat or to be picked up, and especially when he wants help getting the tennis ball out from under the couch. Greta likes to sit on the console in the car and can easily hold two Himalayan treats in her mouth.
How she gets Marlowe’s treat away from him I don’t know.
Together with Molly they have made a little pack. They bob and weave, playing ferociously, but still trusting one another. Except with Himalayan treats of course.
And of course they found their way into my heart. The house would be empty and dead without them.
They are not spoiled or anything.
In fact the thing I am very proudest of in all of this:
I didn’t even know it was their birthday.
Learned about from an email. Sometimes you find good things in your junk mail box.