I love Job so much. We got him from a family in Vermont, after our first dog, Fry, bit it in a car accident. Now, I wasn't actually present for the purchase of either dog, but Sarah obviously knows how to pick them. Apparently Job was the runt of the litter, and the family had named him "Mouth," for his tendency to talk and talk and talk when he needed something. This appealed to Sarah, I think, because although the whole litter was physically hurting from malnutrition and worms and stuff, Job at least was psychologically hardy and ready to speak up and be counted. This comic is from when he was just under a year old.