The puppy-tail wagged so hard I thought it might fly right off. Reagan is not really a puppy at seven years- old. But when the family returns home after being gone for a week, her behavior is certainly puppy-ish.
At the sound of our voices in the garage, she begins a frantic barking. I can only imagine she is thinking it is a stranger. As Brennan opens the door and says hello, the joyful whining ensues.
The kennel door is opened and out pours an exuberant ball of golden fur. She barrels us over in the garage, moving frantically from one body to another. Not sure of where to stop for love, she continues to make the rounds.
As we enter the house, the excitement continues. Maneuvering the large and heavy suitcase around her is no easy task. In the bedroom, she is on the bed, off the bed, on the bed, off the bed. She knows not to jump up on people but instead engages in small circular leaps at our feet.
Later, she is a “spilled puppy” on the kitchen floor. It seems she can finally relax now that her brood is home… all in right in her world.