Growing Up and Up and Up

Fingal is now nearly seven months old, still hasn't quite grown into his feet and tail, and is as tall as Taz. He's still sweet natured, needing a lot of cuddling, but I'm going to have to work more with him now. He knows four hand signals, obeys most times, but when he gets excited, all bets are off.
He responds to two sounds: the steamer on the espresso machine, and the refrigerator's ice machine. He studies the way I get ice from the fridge door and waits for me to give him a piece. I suspect he will soon figure out he can push the lever with his nose, open his mouth, and serve himself. The steamer is another matter. He and Taz wait patiently, looking from me to the milk container. They watch we I add milk to the coffee, then I give them  what remains in the jug, cooled a bit of course.
Fingal, like the two deerhound males I had before him, likes to drag articles of my clothing to his bed. He doesn't chew them. So, as Taz taught me to put my shoes away, Fingal is teaching me another lesson on being tidy.
Am I glad I gave in and took him? You bet I am. In spite of being exasperated with him (he whines a lot) at times, I smile whenever he come up to me.