I can see one of us is comfortable.

Brian is finally getting settled in.  It took him longer this move than any others we've done together.  Even after I had all my belongings moved in, he would still go to the door around 8-9pm each night for about two weeks.  I think he thought we were going back home.  Anytime I'm working on someone else's house and it's vacant, I always take him with me so he's accustomed to leaving in the evenings to return home.  Now, he's a happy boy.  He has a large yard to roam around, lots of sunshine for him to recharge in, and plenty of squirrels and birds to watch.  It's almost to the point where, if the sun's out, he'd rather be outside than in and will try to practice his independence by flopping over in the yard and refusing to come inside after going to potty.  I have to go pick him up, whereas he's turned into what my Other Half refers to as "hundred pound Brian" because he's on his back, dead weight, thinking I won't pick him up make him come in.  Another one of his new favorite things is to be rocked.  (I know, I know, he's horribly spoiled).  I started the rocking with him when I was rushing madly to get moved in and didn't feel like I was spending enough time with him so when I'd go outside to rest, he'd get in my lap and lie down.  The following pictures illustrate how rotten he really is.  He must think I bought him the world's largest dog house and a yard.  All for him.  If you look at the one where he's wallowing in my lap (yet another thing Other Half calls him:  wallerpuppy), you can see he is so asleep that his mouth is open.

Rotten dog

I swear I'm not a Boston Terrier decor hoarder....really....