Lady is five months old. She is constructed entirely from legs, tail, and schnozz. She has no earthly idea where her feet are located, as every morning she wakes up and they have once again migrated.
Although they like her, all the adult dogs can read the Kick Me sign that Nature has painted on her ass. They regard this as a kind of sacred duty. Face Mecca and flatten the puppy five times a day.
I think this stage is among the most charming in puppydom. No more issues about wee-wee on the rug, minimal discussions about chewing That Which Is Not Yours, but hours of comic relief as the Lady Mayor trips on the stairs, runs into trees, flees crabby chickens, and generally rules Dorkville with a benign and ridiculously outsized paw.
|What? What about my ears?|
Lady is living in free-range foster in Southwest Pennsylvania, and looking for her forever home via National English Shepherd Rescue. There is no earthly reason she needs to stay here in foster. It's not fair for us to bogart all the puppy amusement.