He's just tried to fold himself into my lap. Long legs, long body, elbows akimbo, long face, blue eyes still full of love. I rub a spot between the juncture of his ears and skull His eyes slip to half mast, he sighs. Seven months tomorrow. Such moments are rare.
He's found his voice and his maleness. Prowl, prowl, prowl, test. Food, females, open spaces to flex his beautiful body, inflate his expanding chest -- that's what he wants. The drive to dominate everything fuels him. Such a primal beast.
Such a tender beast. By bedtime, he's a puppy again Curling himself near me, resting his head just so. Icy blue eyes fixed on me,
willing to obey my every command: "Crate, Ginsberg." One pleading look upwards, and then he enters his den for the night.
Morning. He emerges from this den still a puppy. Two big stretches. One for the back half, one for the front half He smiles with his eyes, his ears. He wiggles. Good morning kisses on my hands, my face Big maw of his mouth on my hands. Let's go, let's go, let's go! Leash, plastic bag, and out we go.