Hemingway, the crazy goldendoodle, is about a year and a half old and is a big, floppy, happy puffball of energy. He has probably the best recall of any dog I’ve seen – seriously, he’d stop on a dime when called. But that doesn’t completely thwart his daredevil side. He lulled us into a false sense of security, posing nicely by the stone bridge before – in the blink of an eye – he jumped over. We’re guessing he didn’t mean to go over – it was about a 10-12 foot drop – and, thank god, he didn’t hurt himself (he wasn’t even sore the next day). Hemingway’s parents say that rather than displaying the genius side of Hemingway, he’s more prone to acting like the man’s drunken side.
Hemingway also has an interesting penchant for being in bushes – not near them, not in front of them. In them. And his soft, curly, bury-your-nose-in goldendoodle fur is like velcro so Mr. Hemingway spent most of our session with leaves and branches and dried grass stuck to him. As mom to a newf who carries in most of the backyard with her everyday, I totally empathize.