Gaze upon him. Stare into his big glassy eyes. He is half Goldendoodle, and half St. Bernard. He's a St. Berdoodle, or a Goldentard. I really don't know. No matter, he's 100% yours. He's 13 hours away, but he's flying out to see you in a couple days. He will then commence to dance about our home in that robotic puppy-like way, that joyful I-just-learned-to walk manner, and we will all be happier.
Then he will pee in the corner and we will be slightly less happy.
But we will clean that up, and the happiness will return in full. Life will very closely resemble a scene from a French film, where a young couple strolls along the Riviera, staring deeply into each others' eyes, getting to know the person they already love intently. Except, it won't be the Riviera, it'll be a city street in St. Paul, and the young couple is staring at a puppy.
I can't wait. Who doesn't want to be loved unconditionally by 130-pounds worth of man's best friend? so Tessa: will you take this puppy, have and to hold, to walk and to feed, in he-ate-a-thesaurus and in health, till death do you part? I know I do.
