Our kid

If anyone is going to be reading this blog, you have to understand about our kid and who he is. That's right, it's time to admit it: Our dog is so spoiled that he's just referred to as "our kid". At least we don't call him "our baby" and dress him up in little sweaters and stuff, but yes, we give him much more attention than we should. He shares the bed (mostly Jozi's side) and stares at us during meals hoping we'll toss him something. When we cook he stands at attention waiting for us to drop something so he can pick it up. (Who needs a vacuum cleaner? I haven't mopped my floor for two years.) His favorite words are goforawalk and wannatreat and goforaride and all we have to do is LOOK at the drawer that his leash is kept in and he goes ballistic until he is out the door, strapped securely (HA!) to his owners. I mean, look at this:
Seriously! Who can not love that face?

Ok, I admit it, he doesn't look like that anymore. You have to understand I got Caleb from the pound when he was a wee six weeks old. From the beginning, he was a very good dog: he came intinctively house-trained- he went to the door and whined anytime he had to go out. He stuck his chewing to the toys I gave him (only two shoes ever met their untimely end to his gnaws) and he never barked. Good boy!
Everybody loves him!! (As Lisa is showing so beautifully.) Anyway, he's been with me (and us) ever since then. Caleb moved from Anderson to Tennessee (and five different places in Nashville) to Oregon (and three different places in Oregon) and he has been such a good boy through all those moves.
He loves to travel and always finds the cushiest part of the car to lay on. He hangs out in hotel rooms whether we're there to babysit him or not. And even though he's almost nine, people still think he's probably three or four because of all his energy and friendliness. Oh yeah, also, everyone he meets is his new best friend. He thinks. Most people do agree.


This summer we had a very bad scare. Our lovable hyper little dog stopped jumping, running, playing, and eventually walking and eating. He just stared at us from wherever he was laying down and if we made him take a step he cried each time he put his foot down. The vet told us he had a subluxated disc, and we could take a chance medicating him and hope it went away, but if not he would need surgery. "Surgery" to us means, "Put Caleb to sleep" because much as we love him, we certainly don't have the money for something like that. So, we gave him his medicine and prayed. For a full week he was confined to an airline crate where all he could do was shift his position about three inches either way. We had to carry his crate outside, open the door to let him do his business, then put him back in the crate and carry him back in. The next week, he could walk from the crate to the door, but we had to carry him up and down the stairs. The next week, he was allowed to be out of the crate, but only when we were in the room to make sure he didn't have too much fun. After four or five weeks of recovery, Caleb came through like a champ, and is none the worse for his episode! In fact, he's even more energetic and hyper than before. Praise God! I know He knows the number of hairs on our heads, but He also cares for those we care for, and He took care of Caleb when we thought we might lose him. He gave us a Superdog!!


Well, I think that is enough gushing about our dog. I just figured you were going to hear enough about him (and probably see lots and lots of pictures too), so I better let you know who he was. And now I hear snoring from the next room, so I better to wake him up and play.