Someone is growing up. She sleeps until almost 5:00 a.m. now, goes out, eats breakfast, and sleeps on my feet while I have my morning coffee. She loves her people, often getting excited when we enter a room, even if we’ve only been gone a few minutes. She sits in our yard facing the neighbor’s house waiting for her people who live on the other side of the fence to come out.
Ivy thinks our cat is a dog. The cat is not amused.
She comes running when she hears the sound of the kitchen drawer opening—the one that holds the box of treats. I’ve discovered that she walks better on a leash if she is carrying a stick in her mouth.
The little girl retrieves with expertise. She is fast, and has a preference for sprints over marathons. She’s been practicing her skill at collecting more than one thing in her mouth at a time. (This skill is still being perfected.)
She drinks a lot of water at one time. She is not a sipper or a grazer. It’s all or nothing for this girl. There’s nothing gradual about her. She runs hard—lets out a bark of relinquishment—and collapses into sleep. Deep sleep. Snoring sleep.
Ivy responds to directions. She’s really good at sit and wait. Down is a work-in-progress. Come is hilarious. I use a hand motion with the word. She sits. She looks at my hand. Then at my face. Then at my hand. And, then she comes. Sometimes.
She makes us smile. For that we are grateful. She loves us, and we love her in return.
She’s growing up alright.