Wha-THUMP!

That’s what it sounds like when J.D. enters a room.

It doesn’t matter the door: dog door; bedroom door; patio doors.

You see, my dog has ginormous feet.

And one day, those Paul Bunions are going to shatter the patio doors as if they were peanut brittle as she bounds in and out. I know it. Like Godzilla stomping through downtown Toyville.

And, secretly, I’ll be okay with it — assuming she doesn’t decapitate herself on exit/entry.

Because I want her to be a horse dog. Hell, if she gets big enough, I’ll get her a saddle-shaped dog vest (patent pending). And I don’t know how J.D. feels about it, but I love when people comment on her huge honkin’ thumpers.

And everyone comments. If they were breasts, I’d sue. Or become her agent.

Last week, she finished her vaccinations and could visit dog park for the first time.

“I love those feet!” one human said.

“She’s gonna be huge!” said another.

“Good luck with that,” joked a man who said it too knowingly for my taste.

And this weekend, a friend met her for the first time.

“Those are cub feet!” he proclaimed, adding that I “may have gotten the Great Dane” I was once considering.

Indeed. And, one day soon, I hope those cub feet reach my shoulders, because I’m guessing she’s a helluva dancer.

Wha-THUMP!