He waits

Twelve years ago this month I brought home a little white ball of fuzz I named, Contraband, because of the fact that technically I wasn't suppose to have a dog. Conor is my dog in every sense of the word. He doesn't eat if I'm not home. When PapaBear and I both call to him he 100% of the time comes to me.







If PapaBear lets him outside while I am gone he won't bark to come in. He'll wait for me...even if it's the dead of winter. It's the same in the summer too. He finds a spot of shade and watches for me. Did you spot him there under the pine tree?

He's waiting for me.


My first baby, my shedding machine, my puppy-wupster, my faithful companion.