So, I have a dog. His name is Freddy, and he’s about ten and a half years old, as of writing this. His mom was a Great Pyrenees (we met her), and his dad was, well, pretty clearly a black Labrador retriever. You’d think that he’d be huge and super furry, but in fact, he’s about 70 pounds and shorter than some full Labs I’ve met. (He does shed constantly, though.) He has both webbed feet and double dewclaws, and he loves to bark and keep our yard squirrel-free.
He loves people a lot more than other dogs, and unfortunately, he informs you that he wants to love you by yelling at you at the top of his lungs. The neighbors put up with it. Mostly. Well, none of them have told us our dog is the worst. Yet. We got him as a puppy, so maybe they’re just used to him.
Freddy is very good at sit, stay, shake, touch, and down. He is not very good at come or off, the term we use to make him stop jumping. It’s the problem with smart dogs: they do a cost-benefits analysis, and they decide that under no circumstances are they going to do what you’re telling them to do, because they’d rather stay out in the yard, actually.
Anyway, he’s great, and now, if I’m referring to my excellent, loud doggo, you now know more about him!