With those big brown eyes, clear as a mountain pond in spring. A wiggly little nose, and distracting pink ears that decry his thievery.
He slips through an open door in the blink of an eye. Then dashes off with his prize. As we call: Swiper, no swiping!
He probably thinks that’s the name of the game. Or his name.
As if Jasper Remington Sherlock III is not enough of a mouthful. Sometimes he’s just called Blarp–cause that’s the sound he makes as he nibbles fingers, toes, knees and wenises. (You know the wenis is the skin on your elbow, right?)
My children have given him a voice. It was definitely a baby voice when we got him, but is evolving into a more timbred version. It’s kind of funny when the “pup” exclaims, “Foiled again!” in his best Snidely Whiplash impression.
and where he is now…
Whenever I’m running behind, tired and discombobulated, just remember, my socks are damp and Blarp is to blame.