He dreams of Nova Scotia all winter. Ten long months of walks in the park, leashes, a fenced back yard and to him it all seems worth-it right about now.
He smells of anything he rolls in which could be old lobster shells or worse. He is damp or soaking wet most of the time. He has endless hands to pet him and scratch his belly. He gets ten-times the cookies he gets at home because the “old guy” is a pushover. He can push open the screen door with his head to come in whenever he wants.
He won’t see a leash until the end of August… heaven.