Poor Zephyr. He hasn't gotten a lot of press lately. All the limelight's gone over to Trooper, the woeful, little furry deaf rescue. It's like competing with Tiny Tim. It ain't going to happen.
Still, Zephyr is my #1 guy. He's mostly my rock, my REAL dog--we still aren't completely certain Trooper is a dog--but Zephyr is all dog, all 60 lbs of him. Sleek, lean with a fabulous gate, even nearing 13 years old. He's a roguishly handsome older man.
Sometimes, Zephyr has bouts of what the vets like to call dogie Alzheimer moments--or maybe it was me who called it that. Basically, he gets anxious, a little confused, hyperventilates and paces. I've been putting him in his red fleece coat when this happens, a cheaper version of the Thunder Shirt. It works a bit, but walking always helps. So we took a big-dog only walk. We both needed it.
To my number one love--well, besides Shadow, but that's another story I couldn't handle any of this high falutin Trooper business without you.