Marlowe, a refreshing variation on the jumble of Marleys that I have run across lately, is eleven weeks old. He has all the usual parts a puppy has, including snorgly nose, pettable ears, and a ridiculously adorable puppybelly. In short, he must be stopped, before he brings the city to a standstill.
Hey, don’t look at me. I don’t stop ’em, I encourage them.