Why I love my puppy

I should probably begin by saying, he technically isn’t my puppy, officially he is the boyf’s puppy and unofficially our puppy, but I thought calling the post “Why I love the puppy I sort of own but is really my boyfriend’s” was a bit long-winded and less catchy. I had to add this disclaimer in case he decided to kick up a fuss 😉
Anyway, the past  3 and a half weeks while the boyf has been away, the puppy has been here with me, and we’ve been looking after each other.

His name is Alfred, Alf for short, he is around 19 months old and we rehomed him 14 months ago from a rescue shelter.
He is such a good dog, apart for a few separation anxiety issues, he doesn’t bark much and he is really very obedient and good with tricks. But these aren’t really the reasons why I love him.
I love him for his joy and exuberance. I find it hard to look at his little face and not smile. He seems to enjoy everything; he gets excited when people come to visit, he gets excited when you re-enter a room, he loves the sunshine, he loves other dogs, he is equally happy with a stick as an expensive toy, he chases things in his sleep. He will run around smelling things like it’s the best thing in the world. He has such an infectious joy about him that you would have to be a cold hearted so-and-so to not appreciate and be touched by.
He has been my most constant company these past few weeks. He’s been good for a cuddle when I’ve been feeling low and he curls up next to me when I am sleepy. He even eat my cakes that go hideously wrong and appreciated them.

I had always been a cat person before we got Alf, but I have been converted. The only thing that would make him better would be if he purred when you stroked him.

Best Wishes,
Betty
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