Dog. . .

A couple months ago our little animal lover learned about dogs. His great aunt's australian shepherds, Sammy and Kiera, to be exact. Sammy was indifferent and a bit grumpy with him, but Kiera. . . Kiera thought he was interesting, exciting and tastedlike bacon. At least I'm assuming that from all the licking she did.

Once we came home he noticed the dogs that live next door. They were out doing their business while he was eating, his high chair offers a good vantage point to see the neighbor's yard. He pointed and said "da." We got excited and said "yes, dogs, good job buddy."

Ever since then, at least a few times a day, he points out the sliding glass door and says "da." Normally this is met with "no sweetie, they're inside sleeping" or some other such assumption. Occasionally he gets it right and then he keeps at it, pointing towards the door saying "da." "Da?" "No." "Da?" "No." "Da?" "No." "Da?" "No." "Da?" "No." "Da?" "No."

We need to get our neighbor's number to call he when he wants the dogs outside.

And then grandma's neighbors had their dog out in their back yard the other day, a back yard he can also see from a sliding glass door, a sliding glass door that he now goes to points and says "da."