Run, Roo, Run!

 My son Ned read my blog and announced that it was depressing.  I was going for "wry."  Ah well...  So, in the interest of happy thoughts, I present my grand-dog Sam.
(I told my son not to adopt a dog, that he couldn't afford it.) What do I know?  Ned rescued Sam, a mixed breed.  Ned insists
that Sam is part pit bull, and is unreasonably proud of it.  Everyone knows that mutts are healthier than pedigree dogs. Everyone but Sam, who cost my son and his fiance a small fortune in vet bills.  Major food allergies.  For awhile, the allergy went into remission with zyrtec and a limited diet of venison and sweet potato.  Alas, that didn't work and he's now on a diet of (I kid you not) kangaroo and red lentils.
I see Sam every week.  I've petted him twice.  He never stands still long enough to receive affection. He zooms through our house as if he's going for a land speed title.  At home he chews the normal things, rugs, shoes, hands (Sam doesn't seem to know where the toy ends and the human begins).  One day he chewed a hole in the middle of their memory foam mattress.  Yes, he's a rascal all right.
 

My son is getting married next week. Sam is not attending.  While my son and his wife honeymoon, Sam will zoom through our house for two weeks.  I will lob pellets of kangaroo and red lentil at him as he passes by.