A lovely fellow plucked from a lab rescue one year ago. Try as we might to emotionally prepare ourselves for any tell-tale signs of abuse or wayward learning curves, we love, accept and welcome him into our home.
Turns out, it's the normal, everyday Lab stuff that'll drive you nuts.
Rudy, like most males, is a sniffer. My God is he a sniffer. And very very picky about which corner or square foot shall be designated as a powder room (his attention to detail is unsurpassed).
One of the minor adjustments was being reminded that there is no dashing off at the last second to run an errand if he hasn't already "been out." One should never expect the Duke to perform his business on any other schedule than his own.
Unlike the Mrs., who's bladder requires relief in a nano-second, and who will dodge behind the nearest dumpster or wood pile, Rudy's search for epic real estate is deliberately slow and methodical. Every blade of grass examined. Every past doo-doo acknowledged and accounted for.
Finally, when his stride becomes a quick, stuttering shuffle, he stops to squat. Oops, nope, not there. Pacing ensues. He looks at me periodically,"I'm looking, I'm looking." Aaaaaahhhhh, here we go.
I notice his eyes rolling back a little. He blinks in slow motion. Then he peers up at me again as if to say, "Do you mind?"
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