Those days are mostly in past, besides the occasional pieces of garbage or frozen bunny head he sneaks into the house to enjoy (the bunny head really happened). Now he's just a big cuddly boy who loves chasing tennis balls and killing anything with a squeaker. His favorite game is what we call "Gimme that." Insert the name of any object (stick, ball, toy, etc.) at the end of that phrase, and it becomes his mission to keep that object away from your hands at all cost. For example, say "Gimme that bone," and he will instantly start prancing around the room carrying his giant bone in his mouth, waiting for you to try and snatch it from him.
One of his other hobbies is pretending he is a lap dog. He is actually quite small for a Newfie, weighing in at about 115 lbs. But he is still big enough that it feels like he's going to crush my lungs when he lies on top of me. He's learned that that's one of the most effective ways to wake me up in the morning. It's a delight. He doesn't ever seem that big to us, since we see him every day. But judging from number of times we've heard the comment, "You should get a saddle for him!" and by the terrified eyes of non-dog-lovers when we approach their vicinity, he's larger than your average dog.
What Thatcher doesn't know yet it that he's getting a brother. Our new Newfie boy was born about a week ago. If all goes well, we'll bring him home in September. I'm not sure how sane this decision is, but we'll roll with it. Even if it means losing another few pairs of shoes.