You haven't met the perfect dog until you've met mine. His name is Cromwell. He's a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel, and he doesn't actually live with me. He still lives with the folks. I'm OK with that, because at this point in my life, that's one reason why I can call him the perfect dog. I can see him when I'm back home, play with him, walk him, pet him, love on him, but I have no responsibility concerning him. I'm OK with that.
He's developed several nicknames over the years: Cromatron (my personal favorite, named by my friend Jerod), Crommy, Croms, Crommers. He doesn't respond to any of them, though. Ole' 9-years-old Crommers is going a bit deaf. Or at least we think so. It's either that, or he's figured out that if he doesn't respond to his name...ever...then we'll assume he's going deaf, and he's off the hook for everything. But being 9 means nothing to Cromwell. He still acts like a puppy, floppy eared and excited about every bit of attention you give him.
His favorite past time is finding lights and shadows on the wall and going after them. He talks in his sleep when he dreams. He's scared of thunder and lightning. In this picture, he's probably scared of that little red light on the camera. When we take him to the dog park and let him off his leash, he starts playing with the other people, not the other dogs. He wants only to be in your lap, licking you and leaning on you. (I could do with less of the licking, but...oh well) Every year at Christmas he gets to unwrap his own present, and every year he succeeds.He's Cromatron, the greatest dog on earth, and I love him.