Our household’s population does best at 10. It’s a nice round number and consists of two adults, four kids, three dogs and a cat.
We’ve tried to have four dogs and it just hasn’t worked out well. The fourth dog just never seems to make it very far past its first year of living with us. That is, if it makes it to the first year in the first place.
We’ve had Hobbes, Alex, Jack, Harley, Chester, Duke, and a few more that were around for such a short time that I’ve forgotten their names. Whether its hit by a car or dies of some mysterious disease, the fourth dog’s days are numbered in our house. They barely last a year before we’re burying it in our backyard.
Now don’t get me wrong. We seem to do quite well with three dogs. My husband owned Duke for 18 years before he died of old age. Two of our current three dogs have lived with us since 1991 and 1995. The third dog, Zeus, was relieved to take Duke’s coveted longevity spot. We’ve had him for more than 2 years now. So we can do three dogs.
But it’s that fourth spot that has proved to be tricky. I’ve decided the fourth position should just remain unfilled because it’s just a revolving door of doom.
If the revolving door of doom wasn’t enough to convince me to say no to a new dog, than the work involved with a new puppy would do it. Chewed shoes. Stinky surprises.
I do not want another dog. My husband does not want another dog. Yet here I am sitting at my desk with a new puppy curled up on my lap sound asleep.
The new puppy is 7-weeks-old and about the size of my right foot. In fact, when it comes to a showdown between my foot and the puppy, the puppy loses. Not that I’d kick the puppy. He just has this annoying habit of walking in between my legs unknown to me as I walk and next thing I know, one of us is going down.
I so did not want a puppy. Especially a hyper puppy that needs to be potty trained and has sharp puppy teeth and isn’t afraid to use them. Then I got a whiff of his breath. Puppy breath. I love puppy breath.
He’s lived in our house for less than a week and his puppy breath has mesmerized the entire family into forgiving him for thinking we are his personal chew toy. After a heated debate and a few tears, we named him Neutron.
I did not want another dog, And last night the tiny dog whose entire body is smaller than Zeus’ head, kicked me out of my bed. It started when he bit my sleeping husband’s toe.
Now children and pets are banned from our bed, but somehow this puppy found his way into it. And at 2 a.m. he was wide awake and ready to play with unsuspecting toes. My husband, however, declined citing previous commitments to go to work in the morning. So my toes were elected. And the game was moved to the couch.
I can now add “Neutron’s chew toy” to my growing list of titles, along with “Autumn’s personal secretary” and “Amanda’s chauffer” and “Maxine’s maid.”
When the alarm clock finally went off at 6 a.m., I was bleary eyed from lack of sleep. The puppy must have been tired too because he finally curled up on the couch and fell asleep.
And despite being chewed on, the lack of sleep and the stinky surprises, I really hope my theory about the revolving door of doom is proven to be an illogical assumption.
And when my husband asks me why I’m spoiling a puppy I never wanted, I confess, “It’s the puppy breath.”
