I’ve oftenwondered what life must be like for our dog.

He is an unusual looking dog, resembling a vampire batin my opinion. He has a sleek,

thin torso with very long legs.

He is a black dog with brown eyes, yet his face is surprisingly expressive at times.

We adopted Parker from Helping Strays during the pandemic and dealt with potty training, which was fairly easy.

For about three days, he was a tiny, infant-like puppy who slept quite a bit and was cute and cuddly. Seemingly overnight, he stretched out and became the strange looking creature we have today.

Still cute at times, he is mostly an overbearing attention hog who sees nothing wrong with licking you

from chin to forehead. I haven’t figured out if he is actually kissing me or if he is tasting any food residue on my face.

Could be a combination of both.

Quite the athlete, his slender body and long legs allow him to dart and weave, gallop and cover distance with precision.

When Parker greets you, he wags his entire back end, seeming to fold himself in half if he gets overly excited.

His speed enables him to strike fear in the hearts of squirrels and the rabbit family that recently camped out in our backyard.

If no larger animals are available, he sets his sights on birds.

No birds? Insects will do.

He is an overly eager toddler who always invades personal space.

Still, his tough guy approach and exterior can cave at any moment.

His bark is not necessarily a device of protection for his household; it’s more like a scream. He is frightened of everything.

I’ve often wondered what he would do if those animals and insects he chases would suddenly turn on him and retaliate. I am pretty sure he would retreat in terror.

Parker’s uneasiness with all things extends to inanimate objects as well. We were assembling some random items after our move, and he went absolutely nuts one day when a dark, ominous looking trash bag showed up in the middle of the dining room.

He finally and cautiously got close enough to the bag to sniff the contents, yet still bristled in fear. After a couple of sneezes, he backed up out of the room just in case the hefty monster decided to pounce.

I found out later that Michelle had bagged up a few items for Goodwill, including a few pairs of my well worn shoes. So, that explains the sneezes.

The ice maker, the dishwasher, a lawn mower, and an exhaustive list of daily whirrings and buzzings seem to cause the poor dog anxiety. I’m pretty sure he would benefit from therapy, medication, or both. I speak from experience.

As with most dogs, we seem to be his main joy in life. He pounces on us, climbs on us as if we are some type of playground equipment, and demands our full attention.

If he isn’t able to engage us in some type of activity, he is content to lounge beside us – as long as some part of his appendages are touching us.

He once climbed up on my chest and placed a paw on either side of my face. It was as if he was saying “I need your full, undivided attention.”

If Michelle and I sit together on the couch, the dog will find ways to situate himself into our alone time. Nothing doing but he has to somehow get between us, and I’ve seen him go to great lengths to achieve this.

Once, he scaled the back of the couch and walked over our shoulders, plopping right in the middle of our conjoined laps.

Then, there was a great deal of squirming until he found a comfortable place.

It should be noted that he was not comfortable until he had broken up our couch sitting time and he had truly come between us.

The most intriguing thing about this dog, to me, is the amount of time he spends alone when we aren’t at home. Does he really sleep all that time? Does he ponder? Does he think we are never coming back?

It would be interesting to ask.