Tilly will be four months old on Friday, and is doing very, very well, thank you. She now knows the "Come," "Sit," "Down," "Up," "Wait," and "Paw" commands, and she's learning to walk at heel both on and off the leash (or lead, as they call it here in the UK). This means we can take her farther afield -- to the woods behind us and (her favorite place) the fields of the village Commons nearby, where she's meeting other dogs...and has fallen in love with a border terrier puppy named Herbie.
Tilly loves to play -- especially with Howard -- and our house is now a minefield of balls and scruffers and and chew toys that squeak when you tread them underfoot. She hasn't quite got the rules for "Fetch" down yet. She runs for balls quite happily but has no interest in bringing them back again; it's far more interesting to rip them up. Thus we're working on the "Drop" command at the moment -- an important one for a puppy who puts everything into that toothy little mouth.
We think she's the cleverest, prettiest, sweetest, funniest dog that ever lived. I suppose everyone feels that way about their dog. Having lived only with cats since I was small, I'd no idea I could fall so hard for a pup -- though my fascination with coyotes might have been a clue. I expect there will be more of a canine presence in my art and writing in the future.
