So it was about one year ago to this day that I picked up my then eight week old (English) bulldog. I christened him Helmer. (The name is courtesy of my brother in law who, at the age of four, insisted his soon to be born brother (or sister - they didn't know the gender) be named Helmer. My wife told me this story over ten years ago - Helmer's (the dog) name was picked out even before his parents were born.)
He has turned out to be a real kick in the pants. Bulldogs have a reputation among some circles of being vicious dogs. They tend to be lumped in the same cabal as pit bulls and rottweilers. Nothing can be further from the truth. They're too friendly (Helmer always jumps into strangers' cars). They're crappy watchdogs most of the time. (He has barked at our central air conditioning unit but sleeps soundly when a strange person enters the house (e.g. plumber)). The other day, he heard a strange sound (I think it was someone throwing something into the back of his/her truck), he barked like a tough guy and then ran into the house, straight on to his bed.
He is a strange dude. He loves going for rides in the car. He likes to sit in my lap (he weighs about 50 lbs now) and stare out the driver side window. He loves going to the vet. And, contrary to my educated guess, he likes the water. But he cannot swim worth a damn.
My wife and I sometimes affectionately refer to him as TLB (That Little Bastard) and PITA (Pain In The Ass). We keep him confinedwhen we're out of the house as he is not old enough yet to trust by himself. Need proof?
Helmer, here's to you. As much as you can be a pain in the neck, most of the time you are not. (The photos above is the worst he's ever done and nothing of value was ruined.)
I hope you have a long and healthy life.
No comments:
Post a Comment