monsoonmartin

Yes, my friends: The Bunk has now completed the first year of his life, and is charging in a glorious, 44-pound blur of hair and teeth into his second.

If our first nine months with The Bunk have taught us anything, it's that the standard poodle may just be the crème de la crème of the canine world.  He is even-tempered (ask his cousin Emily how tolerant and patient he is when being ordered and tugged around by a kindergartener), obedient (usually, when it comes to "sit" and "down" and "leave it," but we're still working on "no bark" and some other things), does not beg for table scraps, does not shed, and is the lovingest, cuddliest dog in history.  (These are objective observations, by the way.)

A few days ago I found a book called Pet Poodle from the 1950s while poking around at the Clay Book Store.  In it, Arlene Erlanger writes with unabashed sentiment and charming effusion about the poodle, a breed she calls, with typical hyperbole, "all dogs to all men."  One passage in particular reminded me of The Bunk, and what we have come to love so dearly about him: "Food and exercise are not as vital to his well-being as human companionship: he can get along under almost any conditions; he can do without regular meals; he can do without adequate exercise, but he cannot live without love."  (She also writes, when discussing a male poodle's elimination habits, "Sometimes lifting the leg is merely a form of courtesy in a dog, corresponding to the gesture of a gentleman's lifting his hat."  Now, I know it's been rather a long while since gentlemen wore hats and regularly tipped them at folks they passed in the street, but I don't think The Bunk means a friendly greeting when he lifts his leg on a tree...)

The Bunk was born August 24, 2008 in Reamstown.  (Can it have been a year already?  "Sunrise, sunset / Swiftly flow the days...")  The earliest known pictures we have of him are at nine weeks, when he was still named Mercedez (which sounds like the name of some spoilt, odious little prat that would be featured on a show like MTV's "My Super Sweet Sixteen").  He came into our lives around Thanksgiving (at 3 months) and, well, he's perfect.  In fact, sometimes we'll be watching him play, or sleep, or we'll be petting him or brushing him, and we'll literally look at each other and say, "He is the perfect dog."  And it's damn right.

The Bunk at nine weeks old, less than a month before we got him. 

The Bunk, Christmas 2008, aged four months.The Bunk chills by the window a couple of weeks ago; note that his right ear is blowing in the breeze created by the air vent on top of which he has positioned himself. The Bunk, recently trimmed by his friends at the Total Dog, relaxes in the chair on a lazy Sunday (just yesterday, in fact), and looks out the front window at some perceived interloper; soon, there will be barking.

The Bunk poses on his birthday specially for you, his adoring fans. 

Monsoon