Bronco

To simply state the obvious, Ryan and I have two Labs. Shelby Ann Louise...aka. Shelby Ann, Shelbs, Shelb Shelb, Brown Girl, and Little Rascal; and Bronco Bill...a.k.a Big Boy, Billy, Black Boy, Bronc, and Dirty Face (The last name has been recently adopted during this moment of writing...I am looking at him now with mud and dried snot on his nose, which is so eloquently placed on the arm of my khaki couch.) Shelby was a purebred wedding present; being the second pick of the litter, she sold for a high price. Bronco, a pound-pup, only cost 50 bucks and sold quickly along with the promise that he liked tennis balls. A sad amount of our time at home is spent guessing Bronco's past, his owners, and his previous life situations. Our first (albeit prideful) suspicion of his past was that he was a gallant, award-winning hunting dog. After all, he does have a small buck shot in his back leg and he regularly "points." However, after many attempts at rekindling the old flame of his youth by rehearsing commands, Ryan and I soon came to realize that Bronco did not know how to sit, lay down, stay, or drop. Our disillusioned dreams of having a prized duck dog vanished as we began to realize that he probably just got shot in his back leg because he was digging through someone's trash...something he was very adept to do in our home, even without command.