The big dog is Torvald. The little one's named Inga. They came to us the way all our animals have: dumped by some tender soul. Torvald came out of the woods the morning of one of the coldest days of the year, last winter. He was just a pup. As with all our dumpees, he was at the doctor's office less than 24 hours later. (No litters on the Dancing Bean, thank you very much). Dr. Gilliland told us he was a very fine example of a pureblood labrador, but warned that the breed "can be a little rambunctious. " (The Doc is a master of understatement.)
Torvald's antics have driven us half mad, caught somewhere between laughter and anger. Take the morning Bill opened the door of his carpentry shop where the dogs sleep and heard an unfamiliar buzz. Searching out the source of the noise, he discovered that Torvald had pulled a power sander off a work table that Bill had thought even the big lab couldn't reach. Somehow, he'd manage to turn it on.
Just as I'd decided he couldn't be any naughtier, a partner for his crimes appeared. A very small partner. (To be continued).
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