Nine-year-olds and twelve-hour rides

He likes them both. The whole way along our Thanksgiving journey from Santa Cruz to Julian, he slept on my lap like a 35-pound dead weight. Only experienced minor tingling in the legs now and then. As his reward for such good behavior, I'm pleased to report that his time was monopolized by twin youngsters who ran him ragged. But we gave him too much attention and his behavior transgressions are becoming more and more frequent. Fighting over the chair (our chair, not his chair), refusing to get in the car without a treat...it's getting ugly over here.

Dogocracy

If my dog had been able to vote in the election, I'm sure he would have voted Kerry/Edwards. And believe me, sometimes I think he should have. He's obviously smarter than many voters out there. And given this new barking trend that's gotten worse since Tuesday (seriously), I think he senses our demise. Sure, he never even flinched at the nearby earthquake last week, but he can smell an ideological catastrophe!

In other news: the limping seems to have subsided, and we're slowly ramping up activity. And the two weeks of rest had an unexpected outcome. The guy turned into a softie. A cuddle muffin. A mamma's boy. I expected a small explosion when he was first let out to play, and I got a "lets go inside for some treats" response. Very peculiar, if you ask me.