They named the dog Shane. That’s my name too. Mom and Dad said he was called that before he came here, but I’m not sure I believe them. Mom and Dad love to bring strays in, and then find them “real homes”. I get a little tired of it sometimes. Someone is always eating my stuffies or snatching my dinner off the table.
Shane, not me, the dog, is different though. Dad calls him a Lurcher. That means he’s mostly a Greyhound but has other stuff in there too. Dad says he was used for racing and hasn’t lived in a house with people before. That’s probably why he peed on the living room wall yesterday.
Shane, the dog again, is super skinny and his teeth aren’t so good. Dad says we’re going to fatten him up a little, and he soaks his food so he can eat better. It’s not fair cause I’m told I have to eat what I’m given or I don’t eat at all.
Shane, the dog again, is a pretty good boy overall. He loves pets and doesn’t jump up on the couch, yet anyway. He likes to play in the house though, and Mom says he sounds like a herd of Elephants, but she says that about me and my brothers too.
Shane, the dog that is, does growl at me sometimes if I get too close when he’s lying on his bed. Dad says he’s probably sleeping with his eyes open again and I scared him. How’s that my fault? I told Dad he shouldn’t sleep with his eyes open but he says that’s just what they do.
Dad has all sorts of weird nicknames for Shane, the dog, not me. Needle nose, puffy cheeks, the 70 kilometer per hour lap dog, or the world’s fastest couch potato. It’s because they run really fast but lay around and sleep all day, just like Shane, the dog of course.
Will I miss him when he’s gone? I don’t know. Dad keeps joking that when he gets adopted he’s going to yell out “come back Shane!” I don’t know what that means, but parents can be pretty crazy sometimes.