A dog is a heat seeking device. There is sun this morning, after days of grey and rain and cold — it's winter downunder — and Milly has found herself a small spot of it, and is sunning herself and her orange rubber gorilla.
Usually they lie at (or on) my feet in front of the small strip heater under my desk, she and her gorilla.
She's had that gorilla for nearly six months, since her first week here. It was a welcome gift from a friend. She was terrified of it at first — it had a wonderful two-tone squeak and had a tendency to bounce or roll when patted with a paw.
It took Milly ages to brave it, and I had a lot of laughs at her tentative pat-squeak-leapback routine, but eventually she lost her fear and totally fell in love with him. His squeak is gone, and he's a bit grubby, but otherwise he's whole and undamaged, which is amazing for such a flimsy rubber toy that gets such constant dog-love.
Tennis balls, on the other hand have been peeled, stripped and thoroughly destroyed, bones reduced to mere knobs and she'll even chew on a bit of wood in the garden. But not the orange rubber gorilla. She loves him.
I suspect he might need a name. Any suggestions?