When it became clear to me that I alone could not provide my dog, Dex, with enough stimulus, I determined to get her a friend. Dex is by far my smartest dog ever—she recognizes people's ring tones and parses my conversations for phrases of interest, like "I'll be right over." It made sense, then, to dip into the same genetic well. Her parents had another litter two years later, and that's when little brother Fredo was born.
Fredo is a complete moron. Like his movie namesake, he's also a sweetheart, but when I speak to him I'm not even certain he understands that I'm addressing him. He looks right past me.
This morning I stepped out of the shower to find Fredo sitting by the front door, placidly sniffing the spring air and watching the world go by. He was a vision of adorableness. Then I looked outside and saw, not eight feet away, a family of deer munching on my garden. Fredo looked up at me, love in his eyes. Ain't dey purty, Dad?
"Dex!"
His older sister snapped out of her bed and trotted over. She saw the deer. She growled. I opened the screen door. She tore after the dear, barking ferociously. As they scattered in fright, Dex made sure they remembered her. So did Fredo. He was the one prancing beside them, gaily enjoying a romp amongst friends.