|Harly and me last summer|
If I sit on the floor, he will bring over one of his toys, squeaking it with enthusiasm. He will put it in my lap or shake it in front of me until I try to grab it from him. He doesn't care that I don't have the strength to actually hold onto the toy for more than a few seconds as he starts to pull it away again. No matter how many times he is able to pull the toy away from me, he happily comes back to do it again and again.
|Walking on the beach this morning|
Harly is the reason dogs are called (wo)man's best friend. He doesn't treat me any differently than he always has. He just hangs out with me, lets me pet him and never needs me to talk. He is still impatient when it comes to being fed and he is still happy to spend time with me playing the same silly games we have always played. He still sleeps at my feet and gives the double paw tap to say "It's time to feed me". One of the best things about Harly is that to him, I'm still just me.
|Ready to play ball|