When Henry was a puppy, he was at the center of our lives because he was a puppy. That's sort of an obvious statement; how can an impossibly cute little creature who makes darling little snerking noises not worm himself into the apple of your eye? How can he not, when he's disemboweling sofa cushions, ripping up carpet and doing dooty in the living room?
We took him to obedience classes, urban dog parks, Home Depot and Dixie. My dad called him his grandpuppy when he was tiny, "that dog" when he was bigger and more mischievious, and then just "dog," in a grudgingly affectionate way.
Then we had kids, and despite the fact that Henry had become very large, he walked slowly into the periphery of our lives and fell asleep. He sleeps for hours and hours, and lurks on the edge of all goings-on.
It's hard to imagine life without him.
(Note unrelated to post subject: if you ever worry about video games rotting your kids' brains, just have them play them upside down.)
