Welcome to Pathetic-ville

We are under no illusions about our dog, Merlin Jay Olsen (aka Merl-Pearl, The Boy, and Merly-Merly-Bright-n-Early).  We know he's "special".  Sweet Moses, is he special.  And by that I'm not trying to say that he's better than your dog.  I am saying it.  He's way better than your dog in almost every way.  Except for athleticism.  And energy, perhaps.  And, while I'm thinking of it: ball-chasing, recall memory, coordination, appetite, trick repertoire, protective capacity, brain activity, and self-esteem.

Now, Merlin might not be the kind of dog to get invited to butt-sniffing parties over at the hoity-toity AKC, but he's got his own unique set of qualities that really separate him from the competition.  For example, Merlin will out-sleep a sloth, out-cuddle an infant, and can eat more acorns in a minute than most squirrels.  And no dog to my knowledge has ever consumed as many dryer sheets as he has without dropping dead.

Looks pretty athletic to me.

If getting belly rubs was a karate skill, Merlin would be a blackbelt.

In the zone.

Despite these talents, however, the boy is a little bit pathetic.  I know it sounds mean, but it's true.  I don't mean that as an insult as much as a declaration of facts.  Consider the following: Merlin spends all day on the couch without moving.  Let me say that again: all day, on the couch, without moving.  From the time we leave in the morning until the time we come home at night, Merlin stakes out a post, and doesn't leave it.  For 12 hours.  I know what you're thinking: He probably gets up and moves around all day, and just returns to the couch before you guys get home.  He doesn't.  Trust me, we thought so, too, but it doesn't matter what time we come home.  We can surprise him at lunch, stop by on our way back from a doctor's appointment an hour after we leave, or come home an hour earlier than normal.  He doesn't budge.  During the live-long day, he doesn't move more than an inch or two, which also means that his food remains untouched, his toys remain unchewed, and that giant backyard he has constant access to through a conveniently-sized doggy door remains unexplored.  It's like he only lives when he's in our presence.  The rest of the time he's just existing.

If you think that's pathetic, check out this picture:

Don't mind me, mom.

I mean, he's so clingy he's actually getting graded on.  He's saying to himself, "Yes, I have a clipboard on my head.  And yes, I'm okay with that."  And this was not a quick and lucky photo, folks.  I had all day and then some to snap that beauty.

The Boy, in all his glory.

Merlin came to us as a young pup, but an old soul.  When we first brought him home, he kept trying to run away or hide from us (or poop on the bed, the little scamp).  He literally wouldn't let us rub his belly for a month.  He'd find a corner to curl up in, then just look at us with his wounded amber eyes that looked like jewels against his ginger coat.  Clearly something traumatic happened to him before we entered the picture that put a permanent weariness and a somberness into his psyche.  Over time, however, he began to trust and eventually love us, and now that love has now evolved into a fierce, unyielding devotion that manifests itself in epic cuddles and constant heavy leans against our bodies and limbs.  Is he pathetic?  Absolutely.  Is he needy and clingy?  In spades.  But does he make us happy?  Without question.  More than we ever thought possible.  Really, when it comes to our boy Merlin, the real question is this: who rescued whom?

Ever wonder what Merlin would look like with the body of a Jack Russell Terrier?  Now you know.

First day at the house:
We couldn't find Merlin for a time.  Then we found him hiding in the back closet, doing what he does best.

Bath time (aka shake-violently-in-the-tub time) 

Adoption day.  Merlin is obviously thrilled.

#yawn #pathetic #theend