Character Development

Behind blue eyes (and also my ear).

Courtney Oates

Apr 07, 2026

Hi Human,

There’s something you should know about me.

I…am a character.

Not the kind you’re thinking of—eccentric, funny, unforgettable. (Though, yep.)
I mean I am an actual character.

And just like my character, I am devastatingly handsome and wicked smart.

My name wasn’t always Boone.

My first family—the one where I was born—named us after something called Grey’s Anatomy. My yellow sister was Meredith. The chocolate one, Addison. My handsome brother, Mark.

And me?

They called me Derek.

And much like McDreamy himself, my baby blues and my shiny mane made for a killer combo. I came with these qualities.

My forever family took one look at my eyes—and they were all in. I was binge-worthy. That, plus my coat (They call me “silver,” but I’m really a yummy mocha situation.), had them hook, line, and sinker.

They were a yes.
(So was I.)

They needed me.
(I needed them.)

My humans know I am adorable. But I also have perfected a number of notable characteristics over the years.

To name a few, I am:
Spunky.
Funny.
Cozy.
Curious.
Timid.
Vulnerable.

And talented. Especially outside.

I can sense a vole underground and plow my snout straight into its tracks.

They think I can’t spell.
(But… W-A-L-K.)

Through my flappy door, I have been known to tote in yard trophies like sticks and limbs and the occasional bird (mostly unscathed, but usually very dead) and leave them in the big, nice room on the rug.

One day, squirrel. One day.

Admittedly, I am also pretty naughty. Sometimes I get bored. Sometimes I’m lonely. I have digested things a landfill couldn’t process: ball point pens, table corners, magic markers, avocado pits, the kitchen floor, candles, tulips (not the stem, just the bloom), countless dog beds and toys, pillows, pine cones…

Sing w me: One of these things is not like the other. One of these things just doesn’t belong….

I am nearly impossible to stay mad at.

I also never miss the things my humans eat. I love apple cores, zucchini butts, carrots of any shape or size, and F-I-S-H S-K-I-N (salmon night is my fave).

My crunchy cup of kibble? Cue my happy human’s unmistakable whistle and his upbeat: “PUPPIES ARE READY FOR SOME DIN-NAHS?!!!!” and my Pavlovian, show-dog response kicks into high-jump gear. Next to hearing a key in the front door, it is the highlight of my day. 6 a.m. 6 p.m. (I can also tell time.)

You know the kid — the spirited, risk-taker dare-devilish one — who moves at such a haphazard clip that they wind up in the emergency room more often than most?

Okay, I am a little accident-prone.

I’ve had stitches, broken bones, splayed claws, household disasters, poisonous scares, and allergic reactions. They keep my cone of shame close at hand (and they sneak little pills inside cheese, which is worth it).