I had a request for more photos, so here you go. Mica is 13 weeks old now.
I can hardly believe how fast he is growing. He no longer looks like a “puppy”, but a small dog, and I can barely carry his squirmy 25 pounds around.
The wrinkles of skin on his nose are gone, his legs, tail and body are much longer, and he does his business outside, all by himself.
His coat is gorgeous, and he already has feathers on his legs and a white crest down the centre of his chest.
His once-tight, black lips are stretching and loosening into the soft mouth of a Golden Retriever and the fur under his chin is like velvet.
Mica is really bright and learns quickly—even “wait”—which I always thought would be the toughest command to teach but for some reason he and Morgan both seemed to understand when Dad puts treats on the paws that they have to learn restraint and wait for the release to gobble them down.
Mica loves his walks around the yard, leash in his mouth, which is a good thing because that’s as far as he can go until his immunity and shots are all on track. Parvo is rampant in Arizona and the hospital gets at least one case a day. One day they had five.
Mica surprised me by taking to the pool so enthusiastically and skillfully at such a young age. I put him on the “Morgan step”, the small one we put in for Morgan to lie on when it’s hot. That wasn’t exciting enough, I guess, and he quickly launched himself off the step and into the shallow water over the beach step where I was standing, paddling along like he’d been doing it for years. He’s a little fish!
If truth be told, I fear I’ve created a monster. I’ve been leaving the back door open so Mica can go in and out when he chooses, and now that he’s such a water dog, he hops in and out of the pool at will and then runs in the house, skidding across the tiles like a rally car on a wet mountain road, careening past the end table until I hear the dull thud of little bones hitting the floor. So, now I have to keep a close eye on him and the door, otherwise I’d be mopping several times a day.
Something about being wet definitely makes him spunky and he throws himself on his bed and rolls around, then gallops across the patio like the devil himself is after him, a big grin on his face.
Some things never change, though. He still hates his crate and often whimpers to get out. I think he’s a free spirit and just doesn’t like being contained.
Mica is very stubborn, and doesn’t yet have a handle on his little choppers and how to soften the nipping for human skin. I have bite marks and scratches sprinkled liberally over my ankles and legs and he spends time every day in the laundry room for “time out” because when he starts chomping on me, no admonishment will deter him and he just gets worse.
If I threaten him with a time out he sauces back with his characteristic “woo-woo” and a bow, and only stops for a minute before he’s back at it so the only remedy is time to chill.
But since Mica is growing up so fast, this stage will pass and he’ll be much better behaved. Soon. Until then, I’m just enjoying each day in this fleeting puppydom.