The original Dirt Dog returned to Fenway last night to help celebrate Cinco de Nomar and still looked like he could bang one off the Monster or maim some helpless pitcher if needed.
My Trot is now 4 years old.
Hard to believe it's been that long, but I can't ignore it.
And with every bathroom related incident, epic meltdown, or just some random moment where he's covered with dirt in desperate need of a bath yet has that serene look of someone at peace with their place in the world I'm more convinced I named my youngest child perfectly.
If that isn't a Dirt Dog I don't know what one is.