Big Dogs, Big City
<p>Anyone who knows me knows that I am a big dog person. This is to be taken in the most literal sense. I’m a <em>big dog</em> person. I like a dog that weighs in at at least 100 pounds. My first (and best ever) dog, <a href="https://www.latimes.com/opinion/la-xpm-2013-may-16-la-oe-daum-rex-pets-death-20130516-story.html" rel="noopener ugc nofollow" target="_blank">Rex</a>, was a modest eighty pounds, but my dogs since then have been gigantosaurs. Goose the Newfoundland (currently in the custody of my ex-husband) is about 140 pounds. <a href="https://gen.medium.com/species-of-grief-b60e494b71c6" rel="noopener">Phoebe</a> the Saint Bernard(ish), who passed away last year, was 110 pounds and built like a brick house.</p>
<p>Now I have another Newfoundland, Hugo. He’s ten-months-old and has probably just edged past one hundred pounds. What’s really impressive about him is his length. He’s thirty inches withers to rump, a boat of dog. When he stretches out on the bed, head on pillow, his tail hangs off the bottom. His paws are only slightly smaller than my hands.</p>
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