And there he is, dutifully following behind her, snacking as he goes, following her trail of kibble.
It is, quite possibly, the cutest darn thing I've seen them do together.
When we decided to get Roy last year, around Labor Day, I had it in my head that he would be mostly the boys' dog. I knew that we'd all need to be responsible for feeding, walking and shoveling up after him, but I still viewed him as theirs, not mine, not ours, but theirs - belonging to the boys. They were the ones who championed for his admittance into our family, batting their eyes and pleading with my husband to finally cave in and get them a dog.
And so we did, get them their dog.
Somewhere between bringing that puppy home and now, he has nestled himself into all of our hearts, not just the boys.
Despite chewing on my patio furniture cushions and knocking over yet another pot of flowers recently, that dog has needled his way into my soul. Despite his insane barkfests at around 12:17pm every night this week, he's just as much a part of our family as any one of us is. Despite the fact that it has, on more than one occasion, crossed my mind to leave one of the side gates ajar . . . and then to have my husband remind me that he's micro-chipped, I am pretty sure he is here to stay.
Note to self: Cancel that ad in Craigslist for a "VERY NICE AUSTRALIAN SHEPHERD - GOOD WITH KIDS."
Yes, this high-energy, crazy, goofy, smart and loving animal has become the dog we hoped he would be . . .
And apparently I'm not the only one who thinks so.