The Dog has been in mourning ever since Mom left. He’s finally begun to realize: living with Dad isn’t all that bad. When I came home yesterday, his thing greeted me with his rawhide bone in his mouth. He did the play bow and bounded off, shaking his bone and growling, then grabbed his favorite toy and began to punch me with it.
This began a rousing round of “run away while Dad lumbers slowly after me,” followed by “lets growl and punch him in the butt with the rawhide.” After a few minutes, we went outside and he ran around the yard like a complete idiot. Then he found a pile of his own dung and tried to roll in it.
He’s getting used to this “new normal.”
I’m not at all sure I am, however.