Naww Harry, my poor, stupid dog. He had to have two tumours taken off of his legs and because he keeps licking his stitches he has to wear a lovely pair of my dads socks.
Harry is a Golden Retriever, but the worst one you possibly could have. Personally, I don’t think he’s a real dog. For starters, he can’t swim. We took him to the lakes once and as soon as he got far enough into the water that his feet couldn’t touch the bottom he panicked and half drowning/ half swimming he struggled out and refused to go back in. He also can’t retrieve- you throw a ball and he either can’t see it and stands there, dumbly looking around, or he catches it and then runs off to hide under the trampoline where he knows you can’t get to him. His sense of smell is shocking. You play the game of ‘which hand is the treat in’ and nine times out of ten he will get it wrong. He is also bullied by our cat, who, for the record is tiny. She steals his dog food, literally pushes him out of the way, so she can eat it. She beats him up so he can’t walk past her and when you come down in the morning it will be her in his dog bed, taking up a tiny little space whilst he has been banished to the floor. She’s more of a dog than he is.
He is the cutest albeit stupidest dog though. He still thinks he is a puppy and will come and sit on your lap. When he was little this was fine. He could curl up on your lap and fall asleep. But now he’s five years old and fully grown, he can only fit half a butt cheek onto your lap- that doesn’t stop him though. He’s also the best company when you ever need to let off steam. On goes his lead and off we can go on a long, long walk, through the country, through the woods, down by the canal. And if you ever need some fun, make him stand on his back legs and dance!
Get better soon, Harry!