Leo is 13 today, lucky us–our sweet, hungry, athletic teenager, doing his best to raise the average life expectancy of Labradors everywhere. (Oops, we’re totally unprepared for a bark mitzvah.)
I’m not sure whether or not Pope Francis said there are dogs in heaven (which would make the place infinitely appealing–and after all what’s dog spelled backwards?). But I do know that Leo has saintly patience and spent a couple of weeks last summer recovering from successful upper eyelid surgery to remove a scary growth (done by wonderful Dr. Mundy, on a Wednesday), enduring a misplaced fade that looked like a large arching eyebrow, and of course the bothersome white plastic cone.
Westminster wraps up tonight. But I already know that Leo will win best (black) Lab showing up on the old red wool sofa, which was supposed to be discarded when a sleek gray replacement arrived last fall. But because he and Ryder love nesting in it, it’s been shoved into an available area in my studio.
Happy birthday, big, beautiful Schmoo, and many more.