Baller

One fateful Thanksgiving Day, I couldn't find anything interesting to watch on TV.  I eventually gave up and left the National Dog Show on in the background while cooking and getting ready for dinner.  A short while later, I heard the announcer welcome the "non-sporting" group.  I scoffed, rolled my eyes and braced for lots of fluff and yap.

But instead, I spotted it.  A roly-poly ball of cuteness in the form of a French Bulldog.  The announcer explained that the breed originated in Europe in the 1800s, and that they were bred as a companion dog for lacemakers.  He also said they were known for being "clowns" and having huge personalities.  I had always wanted a dog, and thought it was the right time.  So I spent the next six months researching the breed and finding out everything I could about them.  I even made a few trips to the local dog park to watch (stalk?) the DMV French Bulldog group.

After learning that adoptions weren't going to work (I wasn't qualified since I lived in an apartment and I'm not home during the day), I finally got a reference for a breeder who was expecting a summer litter and could put me first on the list of interested "parents."  I told the breeder that I wanted a cream male with lots of personality, but I mostly wanted a healthy puppy.  So I waited anxiously, and on June 15th, I heard great news.  There was a perfect little cream male bulldog and he was MINE!  The next nine weeks of waiting were torture, but I got plenty of email updates from the breeder.  She warned me that my puppy (originally named Fighter... no comment) was very very "spunky" and would probably give me quite a run for my money.  I was so excited when August rolled around it was finally time for my puppy (renamed Cooper) to come home.

Fast forward to 18 months later.  What a journey.  The term "clown" barely scratches the surface.  Cooper is a 24/7 source of entertainment and his personality gets bigger by the day.  He also demands constant attention, and his recent obsession is playing fetch.  For hours on hours, seriously he never tires.

This past Sunday, I sprawled out on the living room floor to do some reading for grad school.  Within seconds, Cooper was at my side, licking my face and walking all over my papers.  I needed to get my work done, so I petted him and told him to go lie down.  AS IF!  A minute later, Cooper was back at my side, with his favorite red ball in tow.  He just dropped it and gave me the "play with me please" look that I can't resist.  So instead of doing my work, we played fetch.  And I grabbed the camera, because he was cracking me up with all of his antics.

In case you think I'm exaggerating...

No more?  Ok...