So I talk a lot about my pottery and my garden. But my best friend hasn’t gotten much play time on my blog (or since I started my blog for that matter). And that just isn’t right.
Skippy selected me in December 2001. And I’m not kidding that he picked me out. As I sat in the living room of the breeder (Celeste’s Italian Greyhounds) with no less than a dozen 12 week old puppies running around, most ignored me. But Skippy came right up to me and sniffed my face (he never has been much of a face licker). Well I was in love.
I took him home a month later, after the holidays, and he has been my best friend ever since. Like all iggys, he sleeps in bed, to my husband’s chagrin. He is curious, but shy. He is regal and silly. He follows me everywhere when he isn’t sleeping, which is often. He loves to scratch the top of his head on the carpet, or in the grass. He loves to sunbathe, and yes, he tans (pink belly in the winter, black belly in the summer). He loves tennis balls but can’t play with them anymore after he wore down a tooth so badly he had to have a root canal.
My friend Ali calls him a “magical woodland creature”. Her husband Mark calls him “Sir Prance-a-lot”. But he only answers to Skippy, which I found out after I got him and tried to change his name. He is has a stubborn streak.
He is a special dog. He makes everyone smile, especially me. As with any pet, they have moments where you wonder why you have a pet (barking or licking at nothing at 2 am, having an accident on the rug, etc.) Even with all of that I can’t imagine life without the little guy. He makes me laugh. He loves to play, even my himself if I am busy – tossing his stuffed squeaker squirrel in the air and pouncing on it as it lands. Like a perpetual child, he reminds to laugh at life and keep smiling.