Eight
As you may remember, we adopted Mr. Bean when he was 6 weeks old... just a few days before we went into the hospital to have Hopper. We make great decisions like that.
Still, for eight years, we've not had to worry ONE time about the fake burglars coming to invade our homestead, otherwise known as "Anytime a doorbell rings in a commercial, on the TV... or radio... or even in someone else's house three streets over." Bean is on top of it.
My particular favorite is when he barks at flying bugs. At 3am.
This year, you can see a little bit of graying coming through around his eyebrows and it occurred to me that he's actually considered a "senior dog" now.
A couple of months ago, I got a sad email that one of Bean's sisters had died. She had developed cancer. The family had written this just absolutely lovely note about how she was a loveable goofball til the day she died--it made me sob 'cause I know about the loveable goofball part, and eight is way too young for a dog to go!
I'm hoping that Bean is with us for a lot longer because even though he stole an entire canister of virginia peanuts off our dining room table and ate them in one sitting, resulting in a fart situation that I have not yet recovered from fully, we do love his big fat head.
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