We adopted Watson from the local shelter where he had been surrendered by his owners just before Christmas. He was estimated to be about 11 months old. We figured we better not change his name, since he seemed to know it. However, we kept struggling to remember it. We called him Winston, Wilson, Wallace, and other “w” names as we tried to adjust. We even called him Mr. Bates since we were into watching Downton Abbey and Watson followed each of us whenever we went from room to room like a faithful valet.
His cuteness was hard to resist right from the start, and Watson had other good qualities which made me reluctantly agree to make him the third dog in our Two Dog Ranch family. (Was I dreaming when I came up with that name for our property years back, thinking we’d never have more than 2 dogs?!) Our middle dog, Maggie Mae – just one year older – had been the puppy from h#!@; fortunately she has matured into a sweetie, although with an independent spirit. Watson was house-trained, got alone with our other dogs and cats, didn’t chew stuff, barked only when necessary, and was a great size at 35lbs. Other than the spins he goes into when he gets excited at the mention of a walk or a ride, he’s a great little pooch. I’m happy to add him to my dog gallery.
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