Havoc the labradoodle is growing up.
At five and a half months, he is over 40 pounds, and built rather like a lamb on stilts. Curly, but long legged, and with a tendency to tip his head to the side when confused, in an effort to maximize the cuteness.
He needs to work the cuteness. A lot. He just chewed his second laptop cord after finishing off another pair of my shoes. It is fortunate for him that I wear really cheap shoes. And can probably fix one of the power cords with electrical tape and some bitter apple spray.
Or at least, I can deduct the cords as a business expense.
If I had written Marley and Me, I could probably deduct the damn dog.
But he continues to be a quick study, when we are teaching things he is interested in learning. Housebreaking is done, or nearly so. Although, as I was trying to type this, he came into the office and had one of his rare accidents, to remind me that he had not gone out lately.
And then, while outside he gnawed through his leash. His third leash.
But he can sit. He can lay down. He can shake hands, although he is a lefty. He can come when called, unlike Kaiju, who never made it further than ‘come when he feels like it.’
But the doodle has one glaring flaw.
He cannot catch.
He can throw all right. If you give him a ball, he will whip it across the room. Sometimes, he will even throw it at you.
If you throw the ball, he will run after it, and bring it back.
If you throw the ball to him, you will hit him in the head. The same goes for dog treats, which will either bounce off his afro, or, if you overshoot, get stuck in the curls on his back.
Then he will look at you with his head tilted, as if to say, “What the hell is wrong with you people?” Kaiju probably would have laughed. But Havoc is puzzled. And somber.
And according to the boys, he is picking up a new trick. If you throw a treat to him, he is learning to dodge.