It’s been two years since we brought him home all riddled with worms and bugbites. Two years of stepping on metal pencil eraser housings, of LEGO blocks chewed to Dali-esque dimensions. Two years of him giving a piece of his mind to, well, whatever it is past the northwest corner of the fence.
Two years of gazing longingly at dogwoods, yearning for a love that can never be.
Two years of perfecting his are-you-going-to-eat-that Oliver Twist face.
Two years of jockeying for couch position with the kids. And mostly winning.
Two years of mirroring my own distrust of authority with more forthrightness and courage than I ever showed.
Happy Gotcha Day, boogs. Please stay off the dining room table.