Before Mico, we had a Boxer named Marley. Marley had his issues, but he was a great dog to have at home.
One year for Christmas, my mother-in-law gave me the book Marley and Me. I read the stories of the disobedient, destructive yellow lab and was thankful that our Marley was such a good dog. I followed the tales and could relate to the ups and downs of pet ownership and the bond that develops between owner and dog. I cried at the end- huge, choking sobs- while I hugged my Marley. Marley passed away last February, while the Marley and Me movie was still in theatres, and I still haven't seen the movie. I know it would break my heart more than any movie should, and I just don't want to spend an hour and a half crying.
Mico entered our lives just weeks later, weighing roughly 90 pounds less than he currently does, and was such a needed source of laughter in our lives with his floppy gray ears and massive paws.
He's been a handful, though, to say the least. More than a few times, I've mentally referenced Marley and Me and thought, He could be worse. Maybe I shouldn't have been pressing my luck all those times. Yesterday, while visiting my parents in the suburbs, I left Mico in their bathroom as we've done so many times so he can't access the whole house and destroy at will. When I came home, I opened the door to find this.
I think we named the wrong dog Marley.