Mr. Big has been a bit gloomy since our Pupgirl died. Two weeks ago I applied to our local golden retriever rescue organization to adopt a dog. I had my home inspection two weeks ago, and am now just waiting for the perfect golden to join the zoo-- a female, young (anywhere up to 4 years old), good with cats. That last bit makes this a taller order than normal, but I'm sure we'll find our new girl soon. Pupgirl's best friend was a golden named Angel that she used to play with like crazy, chasing and jumping on her--just the way she played with Mr. Big. The temperaments are so similar I think a sammy and a golden will get along fine.
But he's perked up a bit the last week because exactly one week ago, T bought a show clumber spaniel puppy, and he has come down three times to play with Uncle Big. Biggie has been great, although not playing per se, but definitely happier and more alert and interested when the puppy is around. Last night when she brought him down and I opened the door and Mr. Big saw the pup, his tail started to whirl like a helicopter. There have been mild resource guarding issues--no, pup, that dinner is mine, mild grrr, said Uncle Big. Which reminded me that he did have these problems with Pupgirl occasionally (especially over certain toys), so out came my copy of Mine! by Jean Donaldson that I'm rereading while we wait for our perfect golden.
I think T has decided on the name I suggested: Bertram. Bertie for short. It really suits that dog so well. In honor of Bertram Wooster and Bertram Potter. Just stodgy enough, just goofy enough.