So, about my dog. I love this dog. I really do. I mean, hello, she’s not only my userpic; she’s the icon you get when you visit my page. Because she’s awesome like that. (And because a picture of the kids just looks like a blob. A colorful, square blob, but a blob nonetheless.)

If you’ve never been around Golden retrievers, I don’t know if I can explain the love that is a Golden. These dogs are big, silly, happy dogs. (But not too big — Lib’s about 40 pounds at 1 year, 5 months old and will probably get to 60 pounds tops. She is, however, on the smallish side as Goldens go.) They’re also eager to please and quick to learn. They have nice temperaments with kids and other animals, too.

And then there’s Liberty, who is the textbook Golden retriever, except better. Hell, other people who own Goldens think our dog is supremely awesome because of her temperament. This dog is really and truly the best dog I’ve ever seen, much less had the pleasure of having as part of our family.

Now, she’s still a pup, so we do have to work with her on her slight tendency towards being ADHD (read: she can’t eat an entire meal at once because she has to run over and give the baby a drive-by dogging periodically), but even there, she’s pretty dang good for a dog. And let’s not talk about the massive amounts of hair this dog produces daily since I will be reminded that I must wait until my birthday for my Dyson. (You have exactly 3 weeks, kids. Shop early and often!)

Anyway, the reason I bring this up now is that Liberty demonstrated yet again why I’m justified in feeling a deep and abiding affection for her. Last night, Bill gave her a hot dog, a WHOLE hot dog. Well, Liberty is no pig, and that was just too much hot dog all at once for my oh-so-delicate little flower of a dog. (And don’t you dare bring up how she slurps at her water dish — that’s just because she gets so very, very thirsty and not because she’s not ladylike!)

Jen, Sarah and I see that Liberty obviously wants to eat the hot dog but has no idea how to go about it since it’s not in bite-sized pieces. So Jen calls Liberty over, grabs Lib by the collar and proceeds to take the hot dog out of Lib’s mouth. Now, what did Lib do? Nothing. She let Jen take the hot dog. Then she sat and waited quite politely for Jen to hand her each piece.

People. What kind of dog does that? Just gives up an entire hot dog to someone who is a stranger? It’s not like Lib would remember Jen since it’s been over a year since we got Lib. And even still I’ve never seen a dog give up a hot dog to its most favorite person ever without some kind of fuss about it. Yet, there was Lib — “I don’t want you to take my hot dog, but you’re a people, so you’re the boss.”

Even Jen (who is a dog trainer by trade) was impressed with Lib’s temperament. Jen told me that kind of thing just can’t be taught, so we were some lucky pet owners. I told Jen I knew and was very, very grateful they’d let us be the ones who got Liberty. (I also asked if Jen was sad she’d given her up, and Jen wasn’t since Sam, Jen’s Golden, just couldn’t adjust to another dog.)

So, yeah. I love my dog, and I totally get why some people go insane and want to have their pets cloned. If I thought I’d get another one just like Lib, I’d have her cloned. Okay, maybe not, but I do love that dog fiercely.

If only I could figure out how to get her to let me vacuum her, we’d be all set.