On November 26, 2010, I wrote this in my blog:
Her (my daughter) ideal pet would be a puppy but I have enough small bodies to clean up after and a puppy is not in the cards. If we get a pet, it needs to be a practical pet. A pet that gives back.
Like a chicken.
Then, in August 2011, this post from an old friend appeared on Facebook:
“Anyone looking for a puppy/young dog? Mom has a Brussels griffon/poodle mix that is 8 months old and needs kids to play with. It’s breaking Mom’s heart, but she simply can’t keep up with her and yet, she wants to make sure her baby finds a loving home. She is nine pounds and won’t get any bigger. She is female, spayed and up on all her shots. She even went through puppy obedience school. Is anyone interested?”
Before you could say, “Idon’tknowifthisisagoodidea”, this little bundle of uselessness was in my bathtub:
It’s OK, kids, don’t be scared. This is what she looks like after her blowout:
Evidently, I can’t be trusted to keep my word. I’m all sorts of a wishy-washy fence sitter who will sell out at the drop of a dog biscuit.
In my defense?
I told me so.
Yeah, baby! I was right!
This new pup of ours is endless waves of naughty wrapped up in a cute little doggy package.
And I knew it.
But I still said, “Yes”.
Her monster name is “Frolicka” but mostly we call her Bailey. Her former owner was completely honest in telling us that she was a mix of two breeds known for their hyper behavior and even her vet agreed that she was a spaz of epic proportions.
So, now we have this dog that won’t sit, stay or come. However, she will shake, retrieve a Frisbee twice her size, and jump through a hula hoop. The boys want to light the hula hoop on fire but I told them no matches for a few more decades (and then I hid all things flammable in a top secret location that I am even afraid to disclose here. Just in case).
The best thing about her is that she is always willing to be the bad guy and let the superheroes that live here chase her in circles. She runs very fast so sometimes the lines between good and evil are blurred.
The worst thing about her is that she eats poop. We live in the country and our yard is a veritable scat smorgasbord. Yay for her! Boo for me.
I also discovered a closely guarded secret about dogs and children that parents with puppies know but refuse to share until it’s too late (I think it’s because misery loves company):
The kids will promise to help with the dog but this is a boldfaced lie!
I speak the truth, parents. You will be the one to take the dog out at 4am in the deep dark dead of winter wearing only your flannel penguin pjs and your husband’s mud boots. You will follow the dog around the yard begging it to pee so that you can go back to bed. After 10 minutes of this you will realize that the dog doesn’t have to pee, she just decided that she’s been in her crate too long and is plotting her way to the foot of your warm and toasty bed.
It’s all on you, grownups. The little peeps have got better things to do than poop scoop. In fact, things may get so bad that you will have to take away the Nintendo DS until the kids pay more attention to the real dog than they do to the virtual dog.
For reals. It’s a life lesson and I am just the sort of mom to teach it.
So now we have a dog. She’s nine pounds of dynamite and her tail is always – ALWAYS – on fire.
Thank goodness.
Because, really, what would we do with a normal dog here at Just West of Wacky? Any dog with a lick of sense would have high tailed it out of here months ago. We’re living in twelve hundred square feet of recorders, box elder bugs, Legos, guitars, drums, craft projects, and dirty laundry (oh, the laundry!).
Truly, a little poop eating, sock stealing, popcorn begging griffin-poo is the perfect fit for this wacky place.
I knew that, too…
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