new member of the family
July 16, 2010
So we got a dog. Since we’ve successfully raised our kids and no longer have to worry about them, we needed a new challenge.
We’ve been talking dog for months. Months and months. Holden wanted a Great Dane. We kind of went the other way:
I know what you’re thinking–“THAT’S not a Great Dane!”
That’s technically true.
But by the same token, it’s STILL a dog, right? Barely?
Meet Phoebe. Or Zoey. Or Lola. We haven’t decided. She’s a puggle. Which is a dog that doesn’t have magical powers.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
No, no. Of course, a puggle is a cross between a beagle and a pug. So if you don’t like beagles or pugs, well, this dog isn’t for you.
We’ve had her for two days now. The first night went really well, no accidents, no whining, she just slept. (The second night went like that too, but I don’t have a story about it, so I’m just telling you about the first night.)
However, the morning AFTER the first night, I got up at 5:30 to go ride up American Fork Canyon with Karl, and so I got the puppy out of her crate in Holden’s room to take her out back to “do her business.” She danced straight over to the same spot she did her business several times the day before, proudly peed, and then came back to cuddle.
So I took her inside and set her down while I got my bike stuff together. After a minute I realized I hadn’t heard or seen her for a bit, so I called her and went looking. She was on the other side of the kitchen table. Squatting. And pooing.
I clapped loudly to make her sphincter seize up, and took her outside to finish, and gave her a little doggie treat when she was done. We came back in, and I went to get some paper towels and stuff (hardwood floors) to clean it up. As I went back over to the scene of the crime, I realized I hadn’t turned on the lights. I realized this just as I stepped full weight on a big pile of crap (the pile was about as big as her head–she had eaten like two tiny bites of dog food the day before–where did it come from?).
You haven’t lived until fresh dog crap squishes up between your bare toes on your kitchen floor.
But. But. But she’s so dang cute. If one of my kids had crapped there and I had stepped in it . . . okay, I’m not sure where I’m going with this counter-factual, but you get the point, right?
But when the new puggle does it? I mean, just look at her:
Let’s just say she got away with it.