This past weekend was a big one, here in the Tottums household.
Obviously, I have lost my fucking mind.
This all started about two months ago when a coworker of mine emailed the whole company and said, ‘my brother’s dog got knocked up – puppies!!!’ and attached the sweetest photo of seven sweet babies ever. As I turned the laptop screen around and told the husband, ‘aren’t they sweet’? he got the look. The last time I saw the look it was 2007, and we were at a friend’s wedding when someone showed up with a baby. Guess who was pregnant 2 months later?
‘Tell her we’ll take one’ he said.
To make this short, imagine me spending the next eight weeks trying to talk him out of this. The biting, the chewing, the puddles of pee, the whining, what about when we travel?
We can all see how my protests worked out.
In the end, the puppies needed good homes, and we have one. Also? We have two boys with high energy levels that need their own dog. We love the Pug, but let’s be honest – a) He is MY dog. He’s great with the boys, but he tolerates them. b) I use the term ‘dog’ lightly – he’s really more of a cat with a canine teeth. This puppy will be a companion for THEM. She’ll grow up with them, she’ll play with them, and she’ll love them.
That is, if she ever stops biting on them, chewing on them, tackling them, and generally pissing them off. It’s been 3 days now, and all four of us are bruised and in some cases bleeding, from needle sharp puppy teeth. Every time she sinks those tiny puppy teeth into my toes, I glare at the Husband. To which he scoops her up and gives me the look again.
I am such a freaking sucker.
Welcome, Chewbacca. We are all already under your spell.
Well, except the Pug. He’s not so sure about you yet.