Of Big Dogs and One Little Dog

Hollywood's growing up. He's two inches taller than he was six months ago--meaning he's already taller than I am, and he'll probably be taller than Sunshine next week. Maybe taller than Balthazar, next year.

All this growing he's doing makes it hard for a mama to keep up:

"I need new running shoes," he said, about a month ago.

"Ok," I said. Then I stored it in that corner of my brain where I was keeping The Storm's request for science project breads. He didn't get them.

"I need new running shoes," he said, again, when I asked him to join me for a jog around the block, a week or so later.

"Can you wear your old ones?"

"I guess."

This sort of thing went on all month. Then, last week, when I suggested, once again, that he wear his old shoes, he said, "I can't. They really hurt my feet."

We hit the mall.

"What size are your old shoes?" I asked, in the shoe department.

"Six."

"We'll need a size seven," I told the salesman.

Too small.

"Seven and a half," I said.

Too small.

"Wow, Hollywood, you're really growing! Sorry," I said to the salesman, while the boxes piled up around us. "Can we try an eight?"

Too small.

"I'm a really sorry to bother you, again," I said to the salesman, who was doing his best to avoid us by then. "We'll need an eight and a half."

Too flipping small!

No wonder his feet hurt! He's been squishing his size nine dogs into shoes three whole sizes too small him, for over a month.

Speaking of dogs, Shadow's also giddy for the new shoes.

 

 

Since, they mean hand-me-downs for her: "New chew shoes! Arff!"