Puppy Dog Grant

Grant is six months old.  He is our baby, and he is six months old!  How it happened, I'm not sure I can say.

He's a big guy, born at 9lbs 6oz. and 21 inches and at his 6 month check up the other day, he weighed in at 20lbs and 28 inches!  He is solid all over, a little chunker through and through.

It is this fact that caused his grandpa, Lucas' dad, to compare his oversized hands and feet to a Great Dane's paws.  Larger than what proportions would seem to dictate; an image of a clumsy dog, tripping over his foundation-and a glimpse of the overpoweringly large frame to come.

I don't know what Grant's eventual size will be and I don't care.  But the image of the puppy has stuck, and now at six months it seems to fit in other ways, too.

In this uncharacteristically hot spring, I've left our doors wide open most days.  Grant chases flies with his eyes.   In my arms, he nibbles at my shoulders, my chin, my nose.  You can always expect a wet, slobbery kiss as a welcome when you're near him.  And at his doctor's appointment a few days ago, he ripped the thin paper liner on the exam table to shreds in seconds flat.  For now, he is my constant companion. Right by my side-experiencing life on our walks or sitting at the window. 

I know he will not always resemble a puppy.  He will grow into his "paws" and into himself.  But I do hope that as he grows he always maintains his puppy like sense of wonder, his quiet contentedness, his joy in simply being together-even if it is only to watch passerbys from the window.