We haven't heard a lot from Griffin lately. He used to be featured quite prominently in this space until the arrival of "The Pink Thing," which I'm pretty sure is how he thinks of Robin. He's probably starting to think of her as "The Squirming Thing," or perhaps "The Stinky Thing" as her diapers are becoming more aromatic these days.
Look, see how even when it's supposed to be about Griffin it turns into another Robin post?
Anyway, Griffin is doing fine. He's four-and-a-half years old, so we expect that any day now he will start calming down as he reaches middle age. Any day now. Any. Day. Now. Actually he is somewhat less ridiculously active now, but not really what I would call sedate. He is a strange mix of fearless and cowardly; he'll stand his ground against any of the big dogs in the dog park but is thoroughly intimidated by my cousin's pug, and while raging thunderstorms are no cause for alarm, the sound of someone chewing gum is terrifying. He is not about to win any awards for Guard Dog Of The Year, as sometimes it's not until a visitor calls out, "Hello," that he realizes that someone has come in.
But he's as affectionate as ever and will happily settle in for a good twenty-minute licking session (only one way to hit that million-lick mark, after all). Watching him run through the park at top speed after a stick is to watch pure joy. And there's no greeting quite as enthusiastic as when you come into our house.
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