It's hard to believe that this cute little 20 pound fluffball would weigh over 100 lbs at one point!
	"I just know I can get my teeth around this! Okay, maybe from this side..."
	10weeks old, brimming with innocence (the dog, I mean).
	4 months old. What a face.
	Caution: skinny when wet. This was his first bath, and he didn't like them any better as he got older. He kept trying to walk casually away in the middle and hope we didn't notice.
	Okay, this pose was my idea, and yes, it hurt!
	"Hey! Where ya goin'?" He always looked like he thought we'd never come home again.
	Waaaiiiit...
	"Oh GOD this feels good!"
	A girl and her dog. Ain't they just too damn cute?
	standing still in the snow, and...
	...NOT!
	"I love my mommy... hmm, she tastes like chicken!"
	Gotta get that stick adjusted just right. His average stick (branch!) for chewing and chasing was about 5 or 6 feet long. We couldn't throw it too far, but he really loved running around with it and trying to keep it away from us. He clubbed us in the legs a lot too.
	I was hoping this slightly bigger stick would keep him busy. He spent quite a bit of time trying to drag it away, and he did move it! Doesn't he look proud?
	Fully fluffed! Here he is after a thorough Sunday grooming when he was about four.
	New house, 1992! Mort staked his claim to the middle of the living room floor. I think this is the classic Mort pose; chew toy in hand, tongue at full extension, and happy as a clam.
	As soon as I built the railing on the back porch, Mort decided he liked to stick his head through it. We often greeted Mary this way when she came home from work. He encouraged goofiness.
	90 pounds of lap dog. Was that a rib I heard cracking?
	Shhh. We're hunting wabbits. Huhuhuhuh.
	I love my daddy. I wonder if he tastes like chicken too.
	We had 18" of snow in '96. The snow was too deep for him, so I got the snowblower and carved him out a habitrail. My favorite part was the trail that led straight into the fence. Bonk!
	"I'm ready. Let's boogy."
	Another classic Mort pose. Let him lie.
	We had to watch our step when we went to the bathroom in the middle of the night. He'd usually find the spot where he was the most in the way, and lay down there.
	"I have a plant where? I can't see any plant..."
	To spare old Mort (and herself) the need for those long, tedious Sunday grooming sessions, Mary trimmed him back down to a puppy cut last May. It made his last months (and hers!) a little more comfortable. But OY did it mess up the living room!
	On hot days we usually got maybe 60 percent of the air from the fan for ourselves.
	"You gonna finish that?"
	12 years, 8 months old. This was taken during his last week. His hips were so bad he couldn't get up by himself. He was letting us know he was in pain. I'm not quite sure what to make of that expression.

And my favorie shot :

So long, old pal. We miss ya.