Professor: Always by my Side

For as long as he was living and I wasn’t at work or school, Professor was always by my side- or anxiously waiting to be there. When we first got him my mom would remind me that he was my responsibility and that I would have to watch him ever waking minute. This is I think when it started. I would barrier off the living room by pushing the big green ottoman into the way & Professor and I would sit in their for hours playing and sleeping together. We’d sit up on the big green love seat and I’d blow on his face so that he’d flap that little tongue in the air and every once in awhile try to bite it. His bites were never very intimidating though and I don’t think that he ever meant them to be- he was always too big of a sweet heart to ever mean to scare or hurt anyone.
Professor was so little when we first got him so we were able to keep him in a green laundry basket for a lot of his puppy life. We’d it up in my room on my bed, him snuggled sweetly and safely in there. Every once in a while I would lean over and put my face into the basket. He would jump up with his little paws on the sides and lick my face all over. I loved his sweet little kisses. That green laundry basket kept him from wandering around the bathroom while I showered- he was a pain in the ass to potty train (it took years before we got there) I’d put him in there and close the curtains and he would jump around and bark until I got back out. Every once in a while I would peak my head out to reassure him I was okay but he would just jump around even more. I remember the first time he got out of that laundry basket-and the last time he went in it-was when I was in the shower. I heard his little paws scratching against the side of the tub so I scooped him up and let him in. He looked so small and pissed standing on that tub floor with the water beating down on him so I picked him up and held him knowing that my shower was over.
From then on Professor (when he lived with me) was always in the bathroom with me when I took a shower. He’d lay in my pile of clothes, snuggled up in my leftover warmth and wait for me to get back out. In his adult life at our Rosewood house we had a glass shower door so I could watch him sweetly sleeping as I washed my hair. A few times Dave insisted that he didn’t need to be in there and that I just wanted him to be. So I’d leave him on the couch (knowing Dave was wrong) and close the bathroom door. Before I could even get soap onto my body I would hear him scratching at the door. Dave would let him in and I would smile as professor curled up happily in his usual spot and fall back asleep.